Book 1 The Defeat of Voldemort
by Veronice
Summary: There is a strange connection between Harry and Voldemort. In 'The Order of the Phoenix' Voldemort used the connection to 'possess' Harry. But now Harry learns how to turn the tables.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary__: There is a strange connection between Harry and Voldemort. In 'The Order of the Phoenix' Voldemort used the connection to 'possess' Harry. But now Harry learns how to turn the tables._

_Disclaime__r: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Notes:__ This story starts at the end of 5th year._

_Chapter 1__:_

Harry Potter was in the grip of a nightmare. He tossed and turned in his bed, muttering and whimpering. Finally he woke himself with his own anguished cry of "Sirius!" Thoroughly unsettled, he sat on the edge of his bed for a time, before calming down sufficiently to go down to the kitchen for a drink of water. He very much disliked having nightmares, but he absolutely _hated_ that his cousin Dudley was almost certain to have heard.

At breakfast in the morning, though, when he might have expected some mockery, Dudley said nothing. Harry did notice his cousin eyeing him curiously a couple of times, but he quickly averted his eyes as Harry looked back. Since Harry had returned from school the previous day, Dudley had left him strictly alone, and his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were treating Harry with a politeness that he was quite unused to receiving from them. But Harry kept his thoughts to himself, and responded by returning an unwavering courtesy. Mad Eye Moody's little talk with his relatives had apparently worked, and Harry was relieved. He was unhappy enough without the additional strain of cruel treatment from his guardians.

The atmosphere was still cold, and Harry didn't stay long in the house, taking himself off to the park instead. He sat on the grass with his back against a tree, staring into the distance, feeling bleak. The guilt that had so painfully torn through him when he realised he had led his friends into danger, and Sirius to his death, had faded to a more mature regret. Professor Dumbledore had taken a large part of the blame upon himself, and Harry knew that he would not have been so duped if only he'd known a little more of what Dumbledore had known. But the fact remained, Voldemort had tricked him, and his godfather, Sirius Black, would probably still be alive if he, Harry, had not been tricked by Voldemort.

And yet he was beginning to feel a sneaking pride, as he thought about the fight they had fought in the Ministry of Magic. Neville, Ginny, Luna, Ron and Hermione, with himself, outnumbered by Death Eaters, had fought well. But even so, they had been on the point of defeat when members of the Order of Phoenix had turned up. That turned the tide, and now several Death Eaters were in Azkaban prison, and the wizarding world had finally opened its eyes to the return of Voldemort.

But that was in the past. It was the holidays now, and in the muggle word, Harry had no friends, and nothing particular to do. What he needed was activity and companionship, something to take his mind off his grief for Sirius. It had been so important to him when he found his godfather - someone who was there for him. But now Sirius was gone, and he'd had too little time to get to know him.

_**x**_

Early on Monday morning, a handsome owl flew in his bedroom window with an informative letter from Professor Dumbledore. Harry felt a considerable relief - last year he had become half crazy with frustration when he was kept in the dark about the steps that were being taken to prevent Voldemort returning to full power. The news was bad, but Harry thought that he almost preferred bad news to the absolute frustration of no news.

The Death Eaters, so recently captured, had already escaped from prison, and were again on the loose. Worse for Harry, Professor Dumbledore told him that it was too dangerous for Harry to go to the Weasleys this year - it would be unfair to risk making the Weasleys a target. Harry was a touch amused, wondering how much thought Dumbledore had put into this tactful way of wording the prohibition, but his furious resentment at Dumbledore had been shortlived, and he would have obeyed in any case. He knew within himself that Dumbledore cared for him, and would only do what was best, as best he knew. Dumbledore had made mistakes last year, and they had all suffered for it, but then, so had Harry made mistakes.

He'd made no complaint, and as Mrs. Weasley offered to pick up whatever he needed for school, he had no reason to leave the protection offered by his relatives' home. He didn't even have the excuse of needing a fitting for new robes. The school robes he'd worn last year were still perfectly usable for another year. He was beginning to notice that he was not only the smallest and shortest boy of his year, but that Dean and Ron, in particular, were shooting up, increasing their lead.

There was another thing bothering Harry. Objectively, it may have been less important than Voldemort's tendency to murder and torture, but Harry was fretting about his clothes. Dudley had grown to a size now that Harry was sure he himself would never reach, but he was still wearing Dudley's old clothes, and they looked increasingly ridiculous. He refused to ask his aunt and uncle for money, and was forbidden to go to Diagon Alley, where he could have exchanged some gold for muggle money. So when, on one of his aimless walks, he noticed a sign on the window of a nearby coffee shop, 'Temporary Help Wanted,' he hesitated only a moment before entering.

John and Ruth Evans were surprised to see Harry. They knew who he was - he was the 'incurable criminal' who lived with the Dursleys. So at first they avoided the subject of his reputation, but talked about the job - fulltime, working weekends, but with Monday and Tuesday off, cleaning, waiting on tables, washing dishes, and hoped that he would decide he didn't want to do it, without them actually having to say.

But when Harry continued keen, Mr. Evans finally stated that they couldn't risk giving a job to a known criminal - after all, he would be handling money.

Harry stood up, his face burning, but saying with some dignity, "I'm not a criminal," before starting to leave.

It was Mrs. Evans, suddenly sorry for the boy, who called him back. He turned and stood in the doorway, looking at her, his face betraying nothing.

"Please, come back," she said.

Harry's colour had died now, but he merely stood, "Why?"

She looked uncomfortable, and said, "Maybe we can talk a little more."

Harry turned back stiffly, waiting. Mrs. Evans was taking in the shabby, ill-fitting clothes that he was wearing. "Where do you go to school?" she asked.

Harry said uninformatively "Boarding school."

"St. Brutus's?" put in Mr. Evans, still worrying about the security of his shop.

But Harry said coolly, "As far as I know, there's no such school as St. Brutus's."

"All right, we'll give you a go." Mrs. Evans said suddenly. "Come here tomorrow, 10.00am, and we'll give you some instruction, and then you can start work Wednesday."

Harry was still standing, that same guarded expression on his face, but as the words penetrated, a smile flashed across his face, completely changing his looks, and making the Evans feel as if they might have done a very good thing.

The following day he presented himself for the promised instruction, and showed a keen animation as he was instructed in his duties. But when he was about to leave, Mr. Evans said, "And one more thing. You can't work here looking like that. You must be in neat and presentable clothes, with a proper collared shirt - not a torn T-shirt."

Harry froze as he stared away, reddening again, not knowing what to say. He desperately wanted this job, this sign of acceptance in the community in which he lived. But he had no better clothes than the ones he was wearing, which he kept clean, but could not make any more presentable.

The Evans looked at each other, and Mrs. Evans finally said, "How about we give you an advance on your wages, and you come with me right away, and I'll help you buy some suitable clothes."

His face was still guarded as he took in the offer. He knew that it was very generous but he hated asking for things. But it was his only choice, and, after all, a major reason for looking for a job was so that he could look respectable. So he said simply, with that same dignity, "Thank you."

In the department store, Mrs. Evans helped Harry select a couple of pairs of cheap jeans, and three collared shirts, that would be suitable for work. He was very grateful, but unknowingly, he had betrayed his complete lack of experience in shopping, and her heart went out to him. She looked down at his shabby runners, with the holes that were beginning, but thought she'd better leave that to Harry, as nearly all of his first week's wage had already been spent.

Harry was happy, though nervous as he dressed next morning and made himself some sandwiches in the kitchen. The Dursleys hadn't even asked where he had got his clothes, suspecting that it was something to do with that other world they preferred to ignore. He didn't tell them he had a job.

He looked perfectly respectable, except for his ancient runners, when he presented himself at the coffee shop for his first job. He showed himself to be quick and competent, very good at cleaning, (he'd had plenty of experience) and needing only some instruction in the handling of money - he had so seldom handled muggle money.

He took his sandwiches to the adjacent park for his short lunch break, and his suspicion that he still had his watchers was confirmed when a grey-haired lady approached him, and said, "Wotcher, Harry."

"Tonks?" said Harry. It never failed to surprise him that Tonks could change her appearance at will. Tonks couldn't stay with Harry for more than a minute, as Harry's watchers were instructed to be very discreet. Harry didn't know about the worried discussions he had caused, when first, he had taken on a job in a fairly public area, and then followed it by rashly going off in a car with an unknown woman. But Dumbledore had decreed that he was not to be interfered with, and Tonks had only been sent to warn him not to again leave the area - the protection afforded him by his relatives' home did not extend far.

Three days later, Mrs. Evans noticed that Harry was still bringing his own sandwiches, although he was making sandwiches for customers all day. She was discussing him with her husband that evening. "He's a good worker, quick, and polite to customers. And he's still bringing his own sandwiches! He won't even help himself to a couple of slices of bread, and some filling! You know, love, I think we've found ourselves a real treasure!"

The next day, they told him he was to make his sandwiches from the supplies at hand, as part of his wages, and from then on, it was usually only one of the Evans who attended the shop, not both. It had taken this long to overcome their reservations about hiring this solitary boy, with the bad reputation.

They spoke about his reputation, too. Why was he supposed to be an 'incurable criminal?' They never embarrassed Harry by asking him. Mr. Evans thought that he may have done something years ago, but was bent on making up for it now. Ruth Evans doubted even that. She never had liked Petunia and Vernon Dursley, and started to think that Harry had been cruelly and unjustly treated, maybe for most of his life. Ruth Evans was a shrewd lady.

Many of the shop's customers were from the immediate area, and they sometimes embarrassed Harry by staring in surprise as they took in his changed appearance. But Harry was accustomed to stares, and ignored them.

Naturally, it was not long before the Dursleys knew where he went every day. They didn't congratulate him on getting a job, but instead discussed between themselves whether they should start charging him board. Luckily for Harry, they thought about his friends in that other world, and decided not to even raise the topic.

He soon felt himself at home in the shop with the Evans, competently performing his not very complicated jobs, and making friends with the Evans boys, Aaron and Mark, who often dropped in for a snack. By the time his sixteenth birthday came, his feet were clad in a new pair of runners, and he had a light, cheap jacket, which was a relief. He had told Mrs. Evans one morning as they met on the doorstep of the shop that he didn't feel the cold, but Mrs. Evans, a mother of boys, had seen the goosebumps on his arms.

On his days off, he would wander the area, rather aimlessly, and occasionally visit a neighbour, Mrs. Figg, who was always flatteringly pleased to see him. It was only the previous year that Harry had discovered that Mrs. Figg was of his world, although not having the magical talent herself - a Squib. But she had rushed to his help when Harry was attacked by Dementors, and now he knew that Mrs. Figg was not nearly as batty as she appeared, and even her cats rather nicer than he had thought when he'd had to stay with her as a child.

Harry was mostly busy and reasonably contented during the days, but at night, sometimes, memories came back to haunt him, and he moaned and fidgeted in his sleep. He tried to avoid thinking of that violently painful moment when Voldemort had possessed him. But it was strange - that moment seemed to have made a difference to him. All last year, he had been troubled by pains in his scar, headaches, and those horrible times, usually at night, when he saw the world through Voldemort's eyes. Now he felt almost as if he'd been immunised against Voldemort. It was a relief, at first, but after a time, curiosity returned, and one day, he quite deliberately tried to think about what Voldemort was doing.

To his surprise, he still did have a sense of his presence, and if he concentrated, he could even have a vague idea of what he was thinking and what he was feeling. He sincerely hoped that Voldemort could not feel Harry in that fashion. He had enormous respect for Voldemort's magical powers, and was apt to think that if he, Harry, could do something, then Voldemort would certainly be able to do it much better.

OWL results arrived one morning, early in the holidays. To his relief, he had obtained the marks and subjects he needed to continue working toward his ambition to be an auror, although, not unexpectedly, he had failed History of Magic. Surprisingly, he had passed Divination. He had never shown any hint of talent at this subject, so maybe the examiners were happy with a basic familiarity of the methods used. Presumably, actual predictions were hard to test. After all, how many times had Professor Trelawney told him he was about to suffer a gruesome death? And there'd been another, too. He was going to be Minister for Magic and have twelve children! Harry was not sure which of Trelawney's predicted fates he preferred!

His suspicion that the examiners didn't expect much was confirmed when he had a letter from Ron. He had passed Divination as well, and had good passes in every other subject. Hermione, of course, had done brilliantly. Hermione didn't do Divination.

The Hogwarts letter arrived, and as instructed, he forwarded the list of required supplies to Mrs. Weasley. Two days later, an unfamiliar post owl arrived with a letter from Ginny. She had been appointed a prefect, and the new owl was her reward from the delighted Mrs. Weasley. Harry congratulated Ginny with perfect sincerity, having long since forgotten his chagrin when Ron had been made a prefect instead of himself.

With his new wages making him feel rich, he supplied himself with some new glasses. The ones he had worn for years were tight, and it didn't look like his aunt and uncle had the slightest intention of spending any money on him ever again. He had just enough muggle money left as the new school year approached to buy himself a watch, and felt himself to be rich in possessions.

With the holidays ending, he had to tell the Evans the date on which he was leaving. It was the first time he had any reason to regret leaving the muggle life to return to Hogwarts. The trust that had been placed in him by the Evans, and the acceptance that he felt from them, were very important to him. In the magical world, he might have been respected, but when he lived in Privet Drive, that world was far away, and it was as if he became an outcast again.

Mrs. Evans felt a growing affection for Harry, which she didn't conceal. She had seen his usual efficient friendliness as he served the customers, but she had also seen the icy mask descend when some boys of his own age had started making jokes about criminals waiting in shops. Piers and Gordon had first looked uncomfortable, then backed off and left, all without a word from Harry.

Harry's experiences had left their mark. He was older than his years, and could sometimes wear a sad expression that hurt Mrs. Evans. Harry felt her affection, and while the motherless boy didn't exactly melt, he appreciated it. So he left, promising to return next year if he was wanted, and the Evans had to look for someone to take his place.

He had to ask his uncle to take him to the railway station this year, as no other arrangements had been made. As always, he hated asking, but Uncle Vernon agreed without any problems, and delivered him to the station a lot more efficiently than the Weasleys usually managed to do. He had plenty of time to find the barrier that led to the station, and to leave behind the muggle world.

As always, he thrilled to the sight of the brilliantly coloured train as it sat quietly puffing away to itself. The magical platform was full of colour and light, witches and wizards. This was where he had first been taken away from his bleak life with the Dursleys at the age of eleven, and this train had waited for him every year since.

He was regarding the train with that feeling of pleasure and excitement, when there was a squeal of "There's Harry," and Ron, Ginny and Hermione joined him, and Neville and Dean a few minutes later. There was laughter and gossip. His friends had all had very different holidays to himself, and even in the first five minutes of meeting, there was talk of time at the beach, parties, and Quidditch matches. The wizarding world was a close knit one, and because there was only one major wizarding school in the whole of Britain, most wizards and witches knew each other, many of them being inter-related.

Hermione was muggle-born, of course, but she had enjoyed a trip to the Scottish highlands, and was raving about the scenery, and she'd met up with others of their friends when they visited Diagon Alley for school supplies.

When they boarded the train, Ron, Hermione, and now Ginny had to leave him to go to the Prefects' carriage, but Harry was philosophical about that, and stayed with Neville and Dean, and were shortly after joined by Seamus, the other Gryffindor boy of his year.

He was aggrieved to see that the other boys seemed to have grown even further over the holidays - even Seamus, who, like himself, was of Celtic stock, had shot up, and looked like being tall. Being small had some advantages. He would be able to play Quidditch again this year now that the lifelong ban imposed by Dolores Umbridge had been dropped, and it was an advantage for a Seeker to be small, light and speedy. But Harry was just sixteen, and human, after all, and he looked at his tall friends, and wanted to be tall too.

The train journey went quickly. It was so good being with his friends again, although he rather automatically started handing out refreshments after the trolley came around, and then cleaned up after them all afterward. But magic was allowed now the holidays were over, and the rubbish was swiftly vanished.

The commotion and confusion when the train journey finished was familiar and heart warming, and this year, the thestrals that pulled the carriages to the school seemed friendly and no longer threatening. A thestral can only be seen by one who had seen death, and Harry had again seen death.

He was having a wonderful time at the start of year feast, enjoying the laughter and the camaraderie. It was a relief seeing Albus Dumbledore back at the helm. Last year had been difficult, to say the least. The new students were Sorted into the houses, and they all watched the ceremony with interest, as they were allotted to their respective houses. It occurred to Harry for the first time that Gryffindors, chosen for their courage, always seemed to look the smallest and most frightened when they first arrived at Hogwarts.

The sixth year students were pleased with their timetables. They had fewer subjects this year, and they had some periods free for private study, which, they thought, sounded like an excellent thing. Maybe their weekends and evenings would not be so taken up with work if they were able to complete some of it during class time.

Harry smiled at Ginny, as she rose from the table with an air of assured responsibility, and with the other fifth year prefect, gathered the first years around her, and led them off to Gryffindor common room. Harry had always been fond of his best friend's sister.

It didn't take long for the sixth year students to find that, in spite of a few free periods in the week, their workload was as great as ever. Their theory work became ever more complex, and demanded a lot of study, and a lot of concentration. The practical work, on the other hand, seemed to be getting easier, perhaps along with their growing maturity.

There was a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dalton, an aged wizard who had been an auror. Although not in the class of Professors Moody and Lupin, he was infinitely better than some of the other Defence teachers their class had endured in previous years. He was very experienced, although Harry suspected, without any real grounds, that he might not have the magical talent that one would have expected in an auror. Maybe it was something to do with the way that Professor Dalton treated him.

It was their first Defence class, and they waited in their seats. Professor Dalton finally arrived and ran through the roll, in order, he said, to familiarise himself with their names. Not only Harry Potter, but his friends, too, had won some notoriety. For a man no longer young, Jeremy Dalton was rather obvious in his interest when various names were mentioned. Neville Longbottom was taken aback, but undoubtedly pleased, when the Professor said that his parents had been great fighters too, Ron was thrilled with the interest shown in him, Hermione was unmoved, but Harry had to work to hide his considerable annoyance. He was very tired of being famous, and wished that all he had to worry about was schoolwork.

Another difference this year was an increased security. The number of security guards seemed to have tripled, and it was rumoured that Dumbledore had placed extra spells over the grounds of Hogwarts to prevent people flying in. Secondary entrances to Hogwarts had been sealed shut, and all visitors, even very important Ministry officials, had to enter by the main gate, where they would be met and provided with an escort.

Quidditch tryouts were held early in the year, and three new players were added to the line-up, as some older players had left, and some were dropped. Harry was Seeker, and was overjoyed to be able to play his favourite game again. Ginny was now a Chaser. Ron was firmly established as the Keeper now, but was totally thrilled when he was elected as Captain.

Ron took his captainship very seriously, and Gryffindor were out practising several times a week. Harry never had any practice over the holidays, but he was a natural flier. Harry, though, wanted to be a superb flier, and he practised some acrobatics that were definitely not likely to be needed when they played their school matches. He adored going as fast as possible, and, with his Firebolt, that was very fast indeed. He played in the trees sometimes, dodging in and out of the tree trunks and ducking under branches, all at top speed.

He no longer felt aggrieved or jealous when Ron took first place. Last year, he had had to fight with himself not to begrudge Ron his appointment as a prefect. This year, he was simply pleased for Ron when he was made Captain of the Quidditch team. He had his own responsibilities, and sometimes shrank from his destiny according to prophecy - that he was either to be killed by Voldemort, or to kill him.

His particular friends, Ron and Hermione, noticed a definite difference in Harry these days. He was no longer apt to lose his temper, even when Draco Malfoy provided him with considerable provocation. He was more cautious, too, submitting without a murmur to Dumbledore's order that he was not to leave the grounds. He always seemed to be alert, and Hermione noticed that he kept his wand close by, even when they were only studying in the common room or library.

Mostly, the difference was in his demeanour. He had become more serious, and had developed the ability to freeze off questions about his experiences with Voldemort, without actually being rude. All the people who had fought the Death Eaters were frequently asked for the story, and most of them thoroughly enjoyed telling and re-telling that story, particularly Ron.

***chapter end***


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 2_:

The first Hogsmeade weekend for the year was scheduled just three weeks into term. This was an eagerly awaited treat and nearly all the students, from third year to seventh year, took advantage of it. Ginny and Dean, for instance, were dating, and went off in the morning, hand in hand, looking blissfully contented, and entirely wrapped up in each other.

Harry watched them go with regret, but without resentment, and used the day to complete all his homework, and even to do some extra study. He was working very hard at schoolwork this year. He knew that he needed extra good results, and was resolved to put in the effort required to achieve this. He followed Hermione's example, and was frequently to be found in the library, doing his best to achieve what he wanted. He never had Ds these days, even in Potions. In other subjects, he was rivalling Hermione for the position of top student.

But now it was late afternoon, and Harry lounged lazily under a tree. Some schoolbooks were scattered around him, but he was no longer working. Hermione, Ron and Neville joined him there, having returned from their excursion. Hermione was talking about a new bookshop that had opened, Neville told him about two trolls pacing in front of a pawn shop, and Ron was sharing his favourite sweets, having purchased a generous new supply. Professor Dumbledore, and most of the senior teachers were known to be absent from Hogwarts, as there was some sort of important meeting going on in London.

The late afternoon chill was just starting to be noticeable when a small owl flew into Harry's face and dropped a folded note at his feet. Harry picked it up, read it, and read it again. He had paled, but his face was unreadable and only Hermione noticed.

Casually, he got to his feet, said, "Excuse me a moment," and went to the edge of the lake where he was half hidden behind bushes. And then he bent his head, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

Harry was concentrating with all his being, working hard now at expanding that odd ability he had to sometimes see what Voldemort saw. And perhaps because he knew Ginny very well, he saw her, standing tied to a stake. "Ginny," he whispered to himself, and he saw Ginny raise her head as if she heard. He sank deeper into concentration, as if he expanded all his senses, trying to feel in his bones where Voldemort was, and he knew, with a surge of satisfaction, that he could find him. He had a chance of fighting.

He still sat, staring at the lake, which showed a disturbance in the middle as something large moved beneath the surface. He had led his friends into danger before. Some had been hurt, and Sirius had died. Maybe he should just go himself. But four fighters had more chance than one against several Death Eaters, even if he did manage to catch them by surprise, as he fully intended to do. For a moment, he even thought that he should do exactly as Voldemort had instructed, the more certainly to free Ginny, who was precious to him, and Dean too, who was his friend. But Harry was a fighter to the core. He could not submit so tamely when there was another way.

The others had been watching him out of the corners of their eyes. Harry sometimes did behave strangely, and maybe it was nothing... It was getting cold, time to go inside, but they waited for him.

Finally, he returned to where they still sat on the grass, and handed the note to Hermione, who read it, then read it again aloud. "The Dark Lord holds captive your friends Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas. I know you will not want them tortured into insanity. You are to pick up the Portkey, which is waiting for you near the wall, one hundred yards to the right of the main gates. You will be transported to the Dark Lord, and your friends will be released to return by Portkey to Hogwarts. Comply without delay."

"I'm not taking the Portkey, I can find him without that," announced Harry. "He's out of his home, which is hidden, and I can feel where he is, and I can find him."

The others still sat aghast. They knew there was a mysterious link between Harry and Voldemort - it had become very apparent the previous year, even though there had been no sign of anything odd like that this year. Ron, Neville and Hermione had fought with him before, and he had faith in their abilities, and they had faith in him.

Neville asked "Shouldn't we tell a teacher?"

But Hermione said, "All the ones that would have a chance against Voldemort are gone away, and we're just as good as the rest of them." Which was quite true. No-one could imagine Professor Sprout fighting, for instance, and the Muggle Studies teacher was almost as much of a fool as the Divination professor.

"What do you think," Harry asked, still hesitating to ask them outright for the help he needed. But if he wasn't going to ask them, why had he showed them the note?

"Harry, are you sure about Ginny and Dean? How can you really know for sure?" asked Hermione. "Remember that he trapped you before like this."

Harry paused, looking at her. He was sure that he had seen Ginny, but last year he had been sure that he had seen Sirius.

At last he sighed, and admitted that he could not be sure. "But," he continued, "I am sure I can find him, and that he's exposed - not in his hidden place. I don't particularly want to die, and as there does seem to be a chance to fight, then I'm taking it. What other choice is there, except to give in and take the Portkey?"

"Can we send to the Ministry, tell them where he is?" asked Neville, still thinking that there had to be a more prudent path than chasing after Voldemort by themselves.

Harry said regretfully, "I'm sure I can find him, but I can't give directions or place names. I'm sorry."

"We've got to hurry," said Ron, "I can't bear to think of Ginny in his hands. Remember Bellatrix Lestrange? She likes to torture people."

Neville, who himself had good reason to remember Bellatrix Lestrange, said hoarsely to Harry "She's not there, is she?"

"I don't know - but probably. Look, only I have to go. If they beat me, they'll let Ginny and Dean go anyway."

The others glanced at each other. "We're all going," said Hermione.

It would be better to have help, and a quick covering note was attached to the one from Voldemort, and both notes were given to a passing third year to arrange urgent dispatch to the Ministry of Magic - not that anyone had much faith in the Ministry to do anything in time. Harry explained further. "He'll be expecting me to come by Portkey, so if we fly instead, we have a chance of taking them by surprise."

The four friends collected their brooms, with a couple of spares, and off they flew, following Harry, who seemed to know exactly where to head.

It was not a particularly long flight, taking only about an hour and a half. They used the low cloud cover as concealment, and Harry, without hesitation, led them to land in a thick cluster of trees. He put a finger to his lips, and pointed, "They're over there," he said very quietly. "Wands out and ready, and spread out."

Stealthily, they slipped through the trees toward a field, where, in the distance, several figures could be seen. Wary and alert, they were nevertheless unprepared when a black miasma of mist rose up all around them, and Ron, Hermione, Neville and Harry dropped to the ground and lay motionless.

The sinister cloaked figures of Voldemort and his Death Eaters approached, and wands were used to lift the inert bodies. They were disarmed, pulled to a standing position, and each securely tied to solid, conjured stakes, next to the ones that already held Ginny and Dean. Ginny and Dean were frightened and furious, and bitterly upset when they saw that Harry had been taken. They had a reasonable expectation that they themselves would be released, but they knew that, for Harry, it was death.

Voldemort said, "Wormtail, wake the others, but leave Harry to sleep." So Neville, Ron and Hermione were brought to consciousness, but Harry's head still dropped forward, as he sagged, helpless against his bonds.

Voldemort walked smoothly forward, and quite gently raised Harry's head, looking at the closed eyes. Almost tenderly, he stroked the scar on Harry's forehead. A shudder went through Harry's frame, but he did not wake.

Voldemort stepped back. "Bellatrix," he said, "I would like Harry to wake to screams. That one, I think," indicating Ginny, who was looking very pale, but standing as erect as she could against her tree, and looking at Voldemort with as much defiance as she could muster.

Ron was still struggling to escape, but there was never a chance. Bellatrix, loving it, stepped forward.

Voldemort said, "Wormtail, as soon as Bellatrix starts, wake Harry. I will enjoy seeing his reaction."

Bellatrix Lestrange, enjoying the use of her specialty, aimed her wand at poor Ginny, who stood proudly, refusing to cringe. But no-one can stand proudly when subject to the Cruciatus Curse, and Harry was woken to the tortured screams of the girl whom he knew well, and would one day love. Frantic, he struggled fiercely against his bonds, which cut deep into his wrists, soon slippery with blood.

Voldemort was enjoying the sight of Harry's frenzy, not really taking much notice of anyone else, whom he seemed to regard as nonentities. At length, Bellatrix dropped her wand. Ginny was in a faint.

Harry stopped struggling, and stood apparently calm. His face was cold, expressionless, as he gazed steadily at Voldemort, who was pacing the ground in front of him.

Unexpectedly, Voldemort turned toward his Death Eaters. "Who has their wands?" he asked, and one indicated the half dozen wands in his hand. "Put them down," Voldemort said, "And all of you but Wormtail, leave."

"Leave?" asked one of the Death Eaters.

"Leave!" repeated Voldemort harshly. "And never question my orders?"

"No, my lord, no, no, my lord," and four Death Eaters silently disapparated.

"Wormtail, free this one," he said, indicating Hermione. "I have a use for her." Pettigrew hurried to do as he was told.

This unexpected turn of events had Ron, Dean and Neville thoroughly confused, but Hermione was closely watching Harry, whose fixed gaze was still on Voldemort. Harry was beginning to sweat.

Pettigrew raised his wand, and Hermione's bonds fell free. She stood still, waiting for an indication of what to do next.

Voldemort next spoke to Pettigrew, "Wormtail, leave."

Without hesitation, Pettigrew disapparated, not silently as the others had done, but with a loud crack.

Voldemort was now standing quietly in front of his captives, but he was beginning to look odd. His expression was mostly placid, except that coming and going there were flashes of vivid fury passing over his face. Harry was still staring at him, but Hermione saw that his fists were clenched in tension, and his face looked white and strained, as if he was putting in a tremendous effort.

She hurriedly moved toward the wands, grabbed them, quickly freed the others, and returned their wands. Ginny had recovered from her faint, but once untied, dropped to the ground, looking sick. Harry had taken his wand in one hand, though not for a moment taking his eyes from Voldemort, who stood unmoving, watching his prisoners escape. Then Harry raised his wand and stunned Voldemort, with some force.

"Let's get out of here," he said urgently. "Those Death Eaters will probably come back."

They hurried toward the broomsticks, but hesitated when they approached that area where the black gas had knocked them out. Hermione raised a hand, "Wait," and then she worked a spell that would reveal a waiting magical trap. There was nothing, and they hurried on, though trying hard to be alert. It had been stupid to walk straight into a trap and they were careful not to repeat the stupidity. They arrived at the place where they'd landed, and there had been no further incident. Ginny, still pale and sick, had to be helped by Ron, but was luckily a sufficiently good flier that she was still able to sit her broom. Harry, too, was stumbling, and swayed on his broom as it rose into the air.

Night was beginning to fall as he led them straight back toward the castle, apparently knowing by instinct its direction. But quite quickly, he started dropping toward the ground, clinging desperately to his broomstick, as dizziness threatened to engulf him. Harry Potter had managed to make Lord Voldemort do what Harry wanted, against Voldemort's will, and over Voldemort's absolute fury. He was exhausted.

"Go to Hogwarts," he managed to tell Ron, who was descending with him. "Find Dumbledore if you can."

He reached out for the welcoming ground, and collapsed. He was white, and very cold, shivering. His eyes were half closed and glazed. He no longer appeared aware of events. Neville and Ginny still didn't know quite what had happened, but Ron and Dean were looking at Harry with awe.

Hermione was more practical, instructing the boys to move Harry to the shelter of a nearby farm shed, where she made him comfortable with conjured blankets and pillows.

Dean was trying to tell Neville and Ginny what Harry had done. "He _possessed_ Voldemort. He actually _possessed_ him! That's awfully advanced magic! He made Voldemort do just what he wanted. It's _incredible!_ _Awesome!_ How could he _do_ that?"

Hermione spoke tartly, "It may be awesome, etcetera, but right now, he's in a bad way. How are we going to get him home before he dies on us?"

"He told me to go to Hogwarts and try to find Dumbledore," said Ron. "It's certain we need help." He looked at the oncoming night with worry. "But I'm not even certain I can find my way back in the dark."

"I reckon I can," said Dean. "I'm good at stuff like that."

So it was agreed that Ron and Dean would go for help, and that Neville and Hermione would stay and try and help Harry. Ginny, who still felt weak and ill, would also stay.

A long night started. Hermione fretted about Harry, who was icy cold and appeared to be in a coma. Repeatedly she used her wand to warm the blankets that enfolded Harry. She longed for Dumbledore, who would undoubtedly know exactly what to do. But no-one came. Ginny needed care too, and Hermione's warm blankets were much in demand. Neville took over watch around two in the morning, while Hermione slept for a little.

When she woke, she was vastly relieved to find that Harry was stirring, waking up. He felt so much warmer, too, as she put a hand to his face, that she was able to relax. It was another half hour though, before he returned to full consciousness, and even then, he was disinclined to move.

He was still lying peacefully in the same position an hour later, watching the night sky, as some black dots sped across the beginning dawn. Abruptly, he sat up. "We've got to move! Quickly. Now! Grab your brooms, they're coming for us."

Getting up, and only swaying and stumbling a little, he had them mount their broomsticks, and follow him, as he sped, straight as an arrow, back to Hogwarts.

They were greeted with great relief. Ron and Dean had managed to find their way back to Hogwarts, but had been quite unable to work out where the others were hiding. Professor Dumbledore had apparently sensed the urgent need for his presence, and had been waiting for Ron and Dean when they arrived. But his normal serene calm was not maintained as he learned that the others were still out there somewhere, and probably with a furious Voldemort hot on their trail. He had been pacing, fretting, desperately worried.

Aurors were sent out at first light, to try and find Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Away from their hidden place, they were exposed to possible capture. But although some of the Death Eaters were sighted at a farm shed, inspecting some abandoned blankets, the aurors were not a match for these powerful and dangerous men, and Voldemort's men escaped. Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange were not seen.

Harry and Ginny, although reluctant, were both taken by Professor Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey. Both of them had torn and bloodied wrists - Ginny had thrown herself about when under torture, and Harry had been equally frantic. But now their injuries were treated and bandaged, and both were then allowed to leave, diagnosed merely with exhaustion and shock. Hermione chose not to say how worried she had been by Harry, although she rather thought that Dumbledore may have had a fair idea.

_**x**_

Three days later, sitting in the common room trying to study, Harry was trying to ignore Dean who was telling the story of their rescue yet again. He'd had a bad few days. Although accustomed to fame - he had been famous as the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' even before he knew who he was, he had never been looked upon with naked awe, as he was now. He was now set apart as someone far removed from the ordinary - and what teenager wants to be that different from the norm? Time and time again, he insisted that he did not 'possess' Voldemort - he just made him do what he wanted. But upon being asked what the difference was, he really didn't know.

Professor Dalton just stared at him whenever he saw him, and in Defence classes, Harry now piled textbooks in front of him, in order to avoid that irritating gaze. Some of the other professors, too, had embarrassed him with their looks and their comments. Professor Snape, however, apparently far from being impressed, was merely particularly sarcastic. Harry found it quite a relief!

It wasn't all bad - the caretaker, Argus Filch, found him leaving muddy footprints one day after Quidditch practice, and merely gave him a sick look before retreating.

Draco Malfoy would point at him whenever they saw each other, and hoot things about being an apprentice Dark Arts practitioner, who would undoubtedly be taking his place as the new Dark Lord just as soon as he'd stopped being such a midget! Harry merely put on an imperturbable face, and pretended not to care. Draco Malfoy had stopped appearing all that important to Harry. He could put up with Malfoy. Sometimes he wondered whether he could put up with his friends! Ron was now prone to sitting staring at him, as if he'd never really known him, and some of the Gryffindors were apt to skirt around him, half in awe, half in fear.

Only Hermione still treated him with a more simple friendship, and he came to the conclusion that it was because it was Hermione who had looked after him in the aftermath of the battle, when she could see that, after all, he was only human.

It was difficult to study with fingers pointing, and half-heard whispers, so he took to taking his school books with him, ostensibly to the library, but would instead find a lonely, empty classroom, and use that. It was against the rules, but sometimes Harry felt that just about everything worthwhile was against the rules.

Professor McGonnagal found him in the Transfiguration classroom one late evening. His books were spread about him, and he was working hard on an essay. All the same, his wand was sitting close at hand, and she noticed that he was instantly alert as she entered the room. Life had made him wary, and holding on to life, for this boy, had been a matter of developing fast reflexes, and seldom entirely relaxing his guard. He had a rather serious mien these days, and Professor McGonnagal thought sadly it had a lot to do with the burden of the prophecy that Professor Dumbledore had shown him the previous year - that he had to kill, or be killed.

"Why are you working here, Harry?" she asked, quite gently.

"A bit of peace and quiet," replied Harry. "They won't leave me alone, anywhere else."

"All right," said Professor McGonnagal. "Would you like a permission note so you won't get into trouble?"

"That would be great," said Harry gratefully.

"Finding it difficult to be famous, Harry?"

"Not that exactly, I've always been a bit famous - I'm used to it. But now people treat me like I'm some sort of a freak! Even Ron. It gives me the willies!"

"Well, you can do things that very few people can do, it's bound to set you apart a bit." said Professor McGonnagal. "And I don't think it's going to stop very soon! But all the same, at this hour you should be in bed."

So Harry packed up and went back to the Gryffindor tower, grateful to see that it was almost empty, except for a few second years, who looked to be up to some mischief with which he was not concerned.

A few days after this, Harry received a message to attend Professor Dumbledore's office after classes that day. So, obediently, he went to the office and knocked. Professors Snape and McGonnagal were there, and to his surprise, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.

"Well, Harry, you've defeated Voldemort again, I hear, and in rather a spectacular fashion," said Fudge, shaking his hand, speaking in a bluff, cheerful voice, and smiling, but Harry saw that the eyes were regarding him with frost, and his hand was dropped rather quickly.

There was another wizard also present, who was introduced to him as Alec McVeigh, the head of the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic. Harry was on his guard, and when Fudge professed not to believe a word of the story going around that Harry had made Voldemort do what he wanted, he merely waited to hear why he was there.

Professor Dumbledore said seriously, "Harry, they've put a reward out for you. They want you dead, and are offering an immense amount of money to have you dead. It means you cannot trust anybody, that even within this school, and perhaps with the Dursleys, you are only relatively safe. You must not go out of the grounds of Hogwarts for any reason, and you should take great care if you are even outside the castle. I am going to personally introduce you to each of the security guards tomorrow, so that they can better protect you. And I want you to cooperate with them if they give you orders for your own protection."

Harry, showing no evidence of surprise or alarm, asked, "How do I know I can trust the security guards?"

"I have spoken to each of them, and dismissed one I decided was a risk. That is the best I can do."

Harry said simply "Thank you," and asked if that was all.

There was something going on in Harry's life that he should have told Professor Dumbledore, and did not. Ever since the summer, he had frequently had a vague sense of Voldemort, and his feelings - sometimes he could even sense what he was planning. But this ability was developing further. Now he could often see, quite clearly, what Voldemort was doing. Harry was pretty sure, now, that Voldemort was totally unaware that he was being watched in this fashion, and that the awareness was only one-way. He felt as if he himself had been somehow immunised against any mental penetration by Voldemort, when he had been painfully, briefly possessed by Voldemort when there had been that fight in the Ministry of Magic - when Sirius Black had been killed by Bellatrix Lestrange.

So, several times a day, he practised focusing his awareness on Voldemort, and his actions, thoughts and emotions. And while what he saw was so far often unclear, he already knew of the overwhelming fury of Voldemort at his defeat, and he had had a clear picture of Lucius Malfoy speaking of offering a reward to Harry's killer.

_**x**_

A fortnight after the rescue of Dean and Ginny, Gryffindor was to play Hufflepuff at Quidditch. Dumbledore had wanted Harry to stop playing Quidditch, as he thought that it made him too vulnerable, especially when out at practice, which was often little supervised. But Harry had dropped the cool veneer he frequently wore these days, and looked at him with such naked pleading in his eyes, that he had weakened.

When Saturday came, he put on his scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch robes with a real sense of excitement and uncomplicated enjoyment. He loved Quidditch and loved flying, preferably as fast as possible. As for safety, he felt as safe on a broomstick as he did anywhere, his sense of his own skill filling him with confidence.

The game with Hufflepuff was an exciting, fast match. There was none of the rough play and blatant cheating that often characterised games with Slytherin. The teams were neck and neck, seventy points each, when Harry finally spotted the Snitch, hovering high above the stands. Without a moment's pause, he streaked off after it, followed by the slower, but closer Hufflepuff Seeker, who had been keeping watch on him.

Chasers from both teams were directly between Harry and the Snitch, but Harry was accustomed to this, and unrivalled in his skill. Lightning fast, he dodged in and out of the other players, tipping to one side to avoid a bludger, and ducking under another. His mind focused on catching the Snitch, two green streaks of light were treated in exactly the same way as any other obstacle - he rolled, and passed under one, and merely swayed to the side to avoid the other, ducking under a returning bludger at the same time. Catching the Snitch, he soared in a curve, high above the other players, holding it triumphantly in his hand.

The crowd was roaring, most of them noticing as little as Harry that he had just had two Death Curses aimed at him. He was grinning, laughing as he dropped back to the ground, surrounded by the exuberant team members. And it was not until Hermione told him, that he remembered dodging spells as well as bludgers and players, in the race to catch the Snitch.

Other people were not so casual, and aged Professor Dalton had surprised a few people by stunning one attacker, while Professor Snape accounted for another. So two wizards, who'd been looking for a reward, were taken into custody instead.

That evening in the common room, Harry felt more comfortable than he had been for a fortnight, as his feat in subduing Voldemort seemed to have been forgotten in the excitement of a Quidditch victory. A favourite entertainment of the night was watching a replay of the final catch, shown on a pair of omnioculars. The omnioculars were owned by a first year, who was thoroughly enjoying his new importance. The scene of Harry catching the Snitch, and incidentally dodging Death Curses, was shown again and again. Harry, himself, watched with fascination.

Ron and Hermione were treating it with much more seriousness, and Ron now said that he should not play again.

"Are you going to drop me from the team then, Ron?" asked Harry.

But Ron had discovered there were things more important than having a winning Quidditch team, and said, "It's too risky. You'll be killed next time."

But Harry said confidently, "I'm probably safer on a broomstick than at any other time. And anyway, Dumbledore will ensure that it won't happen again."

Ron let the matter drop.

This was not the only attack on Harry in the next weeks. All those security guards prowling the grounds seemed unable to prevent them. Once a spell whistled at him from the shelter of the Forbidden Forest, and once from behind a greenhouse. Each time, the sending of the spell was immediately followed by the sight of a broomstick streaking to the edge of the grounds, then vanishing, as the culprit disapparated, complete with broomstick.

Harry began to keep right away from the potential cover of the Forbidden Forest, and learned to check, as best he could, other potential hiding places before he went too close. He became more and more wary, and quicker of reflex. But he could not bring himself to stay confined within the castle.

He was still practising his spying on Voldemort. What he saw and heard was becoming more clear to him, as he learned to focus, and how to access that part of his mind where the ability seemed to lie. He was also beginning to suspect that he might be able to have some influence over Voldemort's actions, while still many miles away. He was still sure that Voldemort had no inkling that Harry was overlooking him in this way, and was also quite sure that it was not reciprocal.

At length, he made the attempt to influence the actions of Voldemort that he had been contemplating. He soon discovered that this was by no means easy. His first attempt was simply to plant an innocuous suggestion in the mind of Voldemort - that he might want to close the curtains, as Voldemort did in any case, around that time every evening. Voldemort remained sitting. He tried again and again. _Talk to Nagini,_ he would mentally urge, or _Ask why dinner is late. _Never an uncharacteristic action, as the last thing he wanted was for Voldemort to be alerted.

At this point, what he most definitely should have done is seek help from Dumbledore, who had immense wisdom and an unrivalled knowledge of magic. But somehow, Harry felt as if this was personal between he and Voldemort. He shied away from telling anybody else, even Dumbledore.

Next he tried a different line of attack. One day, as Voldemort raised his wand to take some minor action, he exerted his will, and Voldemort's wand slipped from his fingers. He continued watching for a few moments, just to make sure that Voldemort suspected nothing. But he merely picked up his wand, and continued with what he was doing.

In the next few days, Harry made him stumble, drop his wand again, and, once, to miss his aim as he tossed a piece of rubbish toward the bin. But any major intervention appeared to be beyond his reach, and he had to go slowly, as he well remembered the overwhelming fury of Voldemort when he had mastered him earlier in the year.

A by-product of his overlooking of Voldemort was that Voldemort became more human to him, less the terrifying monster who had haunted his dreams. He no longer feared Voldemort, even though he knew full well that he was a powerful and evil wizard, with devoted followers who were also powerful and evil wizards.

***chapter end***


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 3:_

It was the first of November, and a winter chill was already in the air. Harry and Ron were making their way to dinner. Ron was still growing fast, and seemed constantly hungry. Harry, too, was growing, and was looking forward to the meal. Other students were milling around, but for a moment, Harry was out on his own, his back exposed. A green light shot through the air, people screamed, and Harry was down.

For a moment, he could be seen feebly struggling to raise himself from the floor. But the attempts at movement were already diminishing, and quite quickly, he lay as if dead.

A second year Gryffindor, with curiously blank eyes, was worming his way through the crowd, toward Harry. He had his wand raised, apparently prepared to finish the job. Neville, who had been not far behind Ron and Harry, raised his own wand, and Euan Abercrombie also went down, stunned.

Professor Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere in the way he had, the students quickly parting for him as he gave one glance toward Euan, and went straight to Harry. Harry was sprawled apparently lifeless, face down, a portion of one colourless cheek in view. His attacker was also unconscious, disarmed, and Neville, Dean and Seamus were all standing guard over him.

"It was a Death Curse, sir," Neville said, his voice shaking, scarcely believing the disaster that had so suddenly overcome them. "I saw it. Euan did it."

Professor Dumbledore was on his knees next to Harry, feeling for the pulse in his neck. "He's not dead," he said, not nearly as calmly as usual, for he loved this boy.

Professor Snape arrived then, his face set. Dumbledore kept his fingers on Harry's pulse, which was becoming more and more faint. Ron was on his knees too, beside Harry, white-faced. Snape conjured a stretcher, and set a student hurrying to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonnagal arrived, her hand over her mouth in horror. Hermione was still in the library, yet to learn that the day had changed.

Madam Pomfrey arrived, and in her competent manner, took charge. Carefully and gently, she turned Harry on his back, then opened his robes and pushed aside his shirt, to lay a hand firmly over the heart. The students were hushed, as they waited.

Finally, she said quietly, "His heartbeat is stabilising. We'll take him to the hospital wing," and Harry was gently lifted onto the waiting stretcher, taken to the hospital, and put to bed. As little as possible was done to disturb him. With such a precarious flicker of life remaining, he was not even put in pyjamas that day, only his outer robe and shoes removed. Wizard medicine is a lot less invasive than muggle medicine, and there was nothing to do but wait. No-one survives a Death Curse - except that Harry had, when he had been just a baby. Could he possibly survive a second time? Euan was only a child of twelve, in his second year at Hogwarts. Maybe he was just not capable yet of the power required to make a Death Curse.

Professor Snape took charge of Euan, until Professors McGonnagal and Dumbledore were willing to leave Harry. Euan Abercrombie was just a second year, but he was a Gryffindor, with considerable magical talent, and had obviously had contact with a dark wizard, who had put him under the Imperius curse, and trained him to do the difficult Death Curse, that few adult wizards were able or willing to master.

The days passed. Harry lay unmoving, unconscious. Two Mediwizards arrived from London, but told Dumbledore they could do nothing that wasn't already being done. Madam Pomfrey was given extra help, but didn't trust anyone else to look after Harry as she did. She always seemed to be there, always available.

Hedwig, Harry's owl, found him in the hospital the day after the attack, and from then on, spent most of her time perched on the head of his bed, watching over him. Madam Pomfrey had been inclined to shoo her away, but Dumbledore said she was to stay. There were other students occasionally spending time in the hospital, and they were apt to stare curiously at the still figure in the bed next to the Nurses' Station. They were not allowed near.

It was a fortnight before Harry finally opened his eyes, and even then, more weeks would go by before he could do more than feebly swallow some soup or potion, and drift straight back to sleep. At this time, when his grip on life was still so frail, Hedwig proved her worth, waking the nurse when Harry began to moan and fret in his sleep, apparently in the grip of a nightmare. It was important that he not be agitated, and Madam Pomfrey gently stroked his forehead and spoke softly to him until he opened his eyes and became calm.

Slowly, slowly, he became stronger. He scarcely spoke, but when Hedwig returned from a hunting trip, she would nudge him until he noticed her, and stroke her back. Gradually, he became aware of what had happened, more from half heard scraps of conversation than from anyone actually telling him. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were frequent visitors, although they were only ever allowed to stay a very few minutes. Professor Dumbledore came often, too.

Shortly before Christmas, Mrs. Weasley came, kissed him, and stayed for a half hour, holding his hand. He roused himself for her, returning a feeble squeeze to the hand that tenderly held his. "Happy Christmas," she said, but regretted it as Harry looked at her, confusion on his face.

"Christmas?" he whispered. Tears stood in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, as she leaned over him to embrace the thin body.

But after that, he grew stronger more quickly. Christmas came, and the visits from his friends ceased for a few days, until he missed them, and asked Madam Pomfrey where they were. This sign of returning life was greeted by the nurse with pleasure, but Harry, with a growing alertness, was dismayed to find how much time had passed. Boxing Day, he asked to be sat up in bed, and tried to sit up a little longer each day. Christmas holidays ended, and Ron and Hermione were allowed to visit. Harry was finding that he finally had the energy to talk, and to ask questions. He could scarcely comprehend that he had been ill for so long. It seemed to him that he had lost so much time.

The next time Dumbledore came, he asked him what had happened to Euan. Dumbledore explained carefully, ensuring that Harry was not left with any misinformation. Euan had been found to be acting under the Imperius curse, and so was unpunished. He was long since back at school, although he was unhappy, Dumbledore thought. His fellow students had not forgiven him, and Euan himself, was acting as if he had done something terribly wrong.

Harry listened, remembering the feel of having an Imperius curse laid on. He had experienced it in class, where he had learned to resist it, and again, a couple of years before, when Voldemort had attempted it on him. Harry had been the only one in his class who could resist the curse, and he could not blame Euan for being its victim. But he was already feeling the familiar fatigue, and Madam Pomfrey came to settle him back into bed.

The day after, Harry did something he hadn't done for some time - shut his eyes, concentrated, and looked into Voldemort's world. His question was soon answered, as he saw in his mind's eye, but quite clearly, Pettigrew standing with a bottle of potion, waiting for Voldemort to take it from him. Voldemort was sick, too. Somehow, he was not surprised.

His rate of recovery improved, and soon he was able to negotiate his shaky way to the bathroom and back, to take a shower by himself, and to make his way to the chair next to the window, to look yearningly at the outside world that he had begun to miss quite painfully. Hedwig still spent a lot of time with him, and was company, but now he was impatient to be back in the life of the school, and working as hard as he could toward his own recovery. Another couple of weeks, and he felt, if he were allowed some extra consideration, he could rejoin classes.

At the end of January, three long months after he was hit by the curse, he was back in his familiar dormitory, and back at classes. He was still thin and weak, still tired easily, but he was ecstatic to be back with his friends. The teachers had orders to treat him with as much consideration as possible, and he was actually forbidden by Dumbledore to attempt any homework. But he was making it to nearly every class, and getting stronger daily. He was still taking the strengthening potion supplied by Madam Pomfrey, a dose night and morning, a ritual to which he was now well accustomed.

He heard the rumours that Voldemort had been very ill, something he knew to be true. And there was another interesting development - Voldemort was no longer offering a reward for his death. In fact, now Voldemort quite definitely wanted Harry left alive. Although thoroughly relieved to have the likelihood of assassination attempts reduced, Harry wondered. Had Voldemort concluded that Harry's health had a direct effect on his own? A strange phenomenon that Harry, at this stage, only suspected.

It was a wonderful thing for Harry to go out into the grounds without fear of attack. He would breathe in the fresh air as if it was food for the soul. He yearned for sunshine, but there's not much sunshine to be had in the wintry days of February. When a rare sunny day appeared, he routinely headed for the outside, convinced within himself that sunshine would help him regain his fitness quicker than anything else. He refused to worry about his schoolwork - he was already just too far behind, and in any case, he was doing the best he could.

He was taking pleasure in each new milestone achieved - stairs negotiated without having to stop and rest, a little energy at the end of the day to walk in the grounds with friends, being able to watch a whole Quidditch match without getting exhausted. It didn't bother him that Ginny was playing Seeker again instead of himself. He had been too sick for such things to mean much, and this was already the second match he had missed.

But around the middle of March, his improvement slowed, then ceased. Although still taking the special potion sent for him from London, he started to lose ground again. He'd been so pleased with his growing strength that he was quite reluctant to admit, even to himself, that he was no longer getting better. He started to develop strategies to make life easier for himself, and to disguise from others, and maybe from himself, just how poorly he was doing.

Ill and weak, his magic started to function differently, and his wand became unnecessary. At first it was simple things. Doors would open for him, lights would go on and off as required, the fire would flare up into a warmer glow, but he soon found he could perform more complex magic, too. He could summon an item from the other side of the room, or likewise banish it to a specific spot, without any need of incantations. He still used a wand, but usually only for conjuring. And he invariably used a wand when other people were present.

He put a charm on his school bag, so that it was no longer too heavy for him to carry. And, most interestingly, when the classroom just seemed too far away, he found what he termed 'shortcuts,' behind tapestries, and around corners, that would take him to the desired classroom almost instantly. Strangely, no-one else seemed to be able to use, or even see the shortcuts. But he was going around in a constant haze of exhaustion by this time, and chose not to think about what was really happening.

Peeves pestered him once, but Harry felt a surge of irritation, and Peeves was hurled to the far end of the corridor and kept right away from him thereafter.

Instinctively, he hid these new abilities, and without ever especially thinking about it, concealed, as best he could, how sick he really was. Dumbledore had given orders that he was not to be bothered with homework, and the teachers were being very lenient. His schoolwork was patchy. While he never had the slightest trouble achieving the desired results with any spell or charm, he was paying little attention to prescribed wand movements, or the wording and enunciation of incantations. In fact, his practical work was effortlessly brilliant - if one was interested only in results.

Things were very quiet outside the school, and it was known that Voldemort was very seriously ill again, after a short lived recovery. He was causing no trouble for anyone, so his illness was widely felt to be an excellent thing.

After the fight with Voldemort, the other students had an immense respect for Harry Potter, and although not a prefect, he would have been able to impose instant order, any time, if he so chose. He hardly ever did. There was an exception. Bullying always made him angry. One day, heading toward a class, Harry came across three large boys tormenting a smaller one. He rated the boys severely, but the effort cost him, and as they were dismissed and the corridor emptied, he sank to the floor, his back against the wall, and his head hanging.

After a few minutes, he hauled himself to his feet again, and took a short cut to Professor Snape's classroom. The rest of the class had already arrived, and Professor Snape looked at him, sneering, "Late again, Potter. You're getting worse and worse."

Harry said nothing, his head was buzzing, and then his knees buckled and he collapsed in a faint. Snape strode toward him, and lifted his head and shoulders. Harry was white, and Snape, holding him, could feel how thin and frail he had become. Snape was utterly shocked. Like the students, he had become used to Harry's gaunt frame drifting along the corridors, and hadn't realised that he was becoming worse instead of better. For the second time that year, he gently lifted him, placed him on a stretcher, and escorted him to the hospital wing.

"The boy just collapsed," he explained to Madam Pomfrey. "My God, he's just skin and bone! I thought he was supposed to be under your care!"

Madam Pomfrey snapped defensively, "He was doing fine last time I saw him. Surely he should have been brought to me before now, if he was going backwards!"

Ron and Hermione were still at the classroom, not having been allowed to accompany Harry to the hospital. Ron picked up Harry's school bag, startled that it weighed almost nothing, an indication to him that Harry was far sicker than he had admitted. Grimly, he handed it to Hermione. How long had Harry been this bad? And why had they not noticed?

Harry soon recovered from his faint, but was kept in hospital for the next few days. He was seen again by the healers he'd seen before, but they said little, and prescribed no new treatment. Most students would have been sent home, but Harry had no real home to go to, and Dumbledore well knew that the Dursleys only kept him on sufferance. So he stayed at school, living in Gryffindor Tower, the place that he had looked upon as home since his first arrival at Hogwarts.

Madam Pomfrey told him very firmly that he had to resume taking his potion, his admission that he had not been doing so, being blamed for his still being so sick. He did resume taking the potion for a few days, but his conviction that it was useless grew, and he soon stopped. The nurse kept a much closer watch on him this time, but could do nothing but observe as he became continually weaker. He was already taking the best medicine available - the potion that was being sent from London was especially made for him.

The weeks went by, and Harry began missing more and more classes. The other students developed the habit of looking after him as best they could, bringing food for him when he did not make it to meals, and waiting on him whenever a need was observed. The house-elves made sure that the common room was always kept warm, and that trays of food were brought to him. By this time, he was spending much of his time in an inconspicuous corner of the common room, resting in the high-backed easy chair he had adapted to suit his comfort. But when he was alone in the common room, he moved his chair to the fire, as he always felt cold. By this time, there was a tacit expectation among the teachers and staff that Harry was going to die.

One day, Gryffindor students returned to the common room to find him with his eyes closed, in his chair close to the fire. He was so pale and thin, and his breathing so faint, that several students were sure that he was dead. But he stirred and woke, embarrassed and confused to find that the other Gryffindors were hushed and sober, sitting and doing their work in inconvenient locations well away from him, no-one contesting his right to hug the fire. He quickly, but rather shakily, rose to his feet, and used his wand to move his chair against the wall to his usual place.

Quietly, edgewise, Euan Abercrombie approached him, tearful. "Harry, I'm so sorry I put the curse on," he quavered.

This was about the fifth time Euan had said the same thing to Harry over the past several weeks, and Harry gave his routine reply; "Don't be silly, Euan. Hardly anyone can resist an Imperius curse. It's not your fault that I'm sick"

"Harry, if you die..." started Euan.

Harry interrupted, "Dying doesn't change things. It's not your fault," and he asked Euan to get him a glass of water, mostly in order to get rid of him.

Ron and Hermione, who had heard the exchange, looked very upset, but Harry was already tired again, and had closed his eyes. Hermione suddenly rose and left, and Ron, concealing his distress, took up a Potions text, and tried to study.

The unexpected arrival of Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, with Hermione trailing behind, next disturbed the quiet common room. Professor Dumbledore acknowledged the respectful greetings of the students, and approached Harry, who started to get up. But Dumbledore told him to stay seated, and asked him how he was.

Harry, a faint flush again in his cheeks, said that he was all right - obviously totally untrue. Dumbledore was looking at him assessingly, and then turned to Ron, and requested him to help Harry upstairs to the dormitory, where Madam Pomfrey was to take a look at him.

In the dormitory, Ron at the door to ensure privacy, Madam Pomfrey helped Harry undress to the waist, and gave him a thorough checkover. Dumbledore, and even Ron, who slept in the next bed, were shocked at the extreme emaciation of Harry's body. Dumbledore asked him where the curse had hit him.

"In the back," Harry answered, and Madam Pomfrey asked him to stand, and gently ran her fingers down Harry's spine until he flinched, and she pointed out to Dumbledore the slightly reddened swelling over the mark of the curse.

"Well, Headmaster, I think it's obvious that Harry needs to be under my care, or even go to St. Mungo's."

But Harry looked at Dumbledore, and said: "Please, sir, I would like to stay here a little longer. I promise I'll come to the hospital wing when I need to."

The headmaster queried gently, "Harry, how long do you think it will be before it's time for you to go to the hospital wing - months? Weeks?"

Harry was staring at the window, and said vaguely, "Not very long."

Dumbledore reached out, touching the thin shoulder. Harry gave a quick glance up at him, "I don't want to be a nuisance or upset the others."

"Do what you want, Harry. And don't worry about the others. Gryffindors are chosen for their courage, remember?"

Madam Pomfrey was looking at the bottle of potion still on the bedside table, and suddenly asked, "Harry, have you been taking your potion?"

Harry, sitting on the side of the bed, looking down tiredly, said, "It does no good," and after a pause, "For a while, I think it was making me worse."

Madam Pomfrey started to scold him, but Dumbledore, raising a hand to stop her, was looking thoughtfully at the bottle of potion.

"Poppy, Harry has already been seen by the best healers, and they could do nothing. He can stay here if he pleases. And I think I might just take this potion for analysis. Maybe we can do better."

He turned to Ron, and suggested he help Harry prepare for bed. This was nothing new for Ron, as both he and Neville, and occasionally Dean and Seamus, had become accustomed to helping Harry when needed, as it increasingly was. Professor Dumbledore strode off, and, although Harry did not know this for some time, took the bottled potion straight to Professor Snape, asking him to analyse it as quickly as possible.

Snape straightaway started doing tests on the potion, coming to certain conclusions very quickly. Grimly, he returned to Dumbledore's office. "It was useless," he said, "Just a brew of nasty tasting water!"

And although Harry was not told for a time, Dumbledore concluded that Harry had been deliberately kept ill, and even possibly, remembering what Harry had said about the potion making him worse, poisoned. The reason was obvious - it would have been done with a view to making Voldemort ill, too, and therefore harmless. And this had to have been done with the connivance of the Ministry of Magic, or, at least, of certain people within the Ministry .

Harry was given a new strengthening potion, quickly prepared by Professor Snape, who also started to prepare a more involved, but very strong, healing and strengthening potion, but this one would take three full days to be ready.

Very slowly, Harry started to improve, gaining strength almost imperceptibly at first. The milestones he had so happily attained before, had to be fought for all over again. At first, he had no faith in his improvement - after all, this had happened before. So Dumbledore told him what he had concluded, and he started to hope. Dumbledore asked him to be discreet, as making accusations against the Ministry would be unwise. Even Madam Pomfrey was not told.

No-one was brought to book over the sabotage of his recovery. If some of the potion had been poison, the sample of potion that had been available for analysis was merely useless, and could simply have been a bad batch. Therefore, there was no proof.

He did not return to lessons straightaway. His first ventures from the comfort of the Gryffindor Tower were outside the castle, into the grounds. He found he craved, not only the fresh air, but the sight of the sky and the trees and the mountains.

One Thursday afternoon, not many days after his first venture outside, he was at the Quidditch pitch, where he had been watching Ron and Ginny practice. They were finished now, and walking, slowly for Harry's sake, back to the castle. Impulsively, Harry asked Ginny whether he might borrow her broom.

Ginny said, "Of course," although doubtfully, as it was perfectly obvious that Harry was still very ill. But Harry mounted the broomstick, feeling a surge of happiness and strength at its familiarity. He soared into the air, doing a couple of quick turns that had him dizzy, so that he quickly became more cautious. Nevertheless, he zoomed around the Quidditch pitch twice before returning to the ground. He was grinning broadly as he dismounted, even though he swayed with weakness. Triumphantly, he announced to Ron and Ginny, "You know, I think I'm going to get better!"

Ginny hugged him and cried, while Ron stared at him, and suddenly turned away, muttering something indistinguishable. And while Harry, still easily fatigued, was escorted back to the castle by Ginny, Ron hid himself behind a bush to cry. For so long now, he had been sure that his closest friend was going to die. Harry was already very tired, and scarcely noticing that Ron was no longer with him, retired to bed early, and was sound asleep while the good news spread.

That night, there was a joyful, but rather hushed party in the Gryffindor common room - "Harry's going to live!" Even Professors McGonnagal and Dumbledore put in an appearance, both of them, at intervals, appearing suspiciously moist about the eyes. Harry, oblivious, slept soundly upstairs in his bed.

There were only weeks left now before the exams. These exams were less formal than the vitally important NEWTs, with a panel of special examiners, which would be next year. But even though the exams would be marked by their own class teachers, no-one took them lightly.

Harry had finally made it back to lessons, but he knew how much work he had missed. He had no hope of passing anything that had a theory component, whatever brilliant magic he could work. He went to see Professor McGonnagal. "What am I going to do about exams?" he asked her. "You know I've got no hope of passing."

Professor McGonnagal was able to reassure him. "I've been talking to Professor Dumbledore. He says you should do the exams, which will give your teachers an idea of your strengths and weaknesses, but you will not receive an assessment, and you will be passed onto seventh year as normal."

Harry was grateful. Not only would he be saved from the humiliation of failing grades, but he would be allowed to progress with his friends to seventh year. He had assumed he would be made to repeat sixth year, but his teachers knew him to be a brilliant wizard, and powerful enough to influence Voldemort through mental power alone. It would have seemed quite incongruous to make him repeat a year, when far lesser students would be going on.

He found the customary end of year feast to be quite tiring, which he had expected, knowing his own limitations very well by this time. But he hadn't wanted to miss it, even though he slipped away early, and missed the presentation of the house cup. Gryffindor won, largely for their rescue of Dean and Ginny, early in the year. There were whispers from other houses, especially Slytherin, that a large number of points should have been deducted from Gryffindor, on account of Euan Abercrombie's near murder of Harry Potter. But no-one ever takes much notice of sore losers.

Gryffindor had also won the Quidditch cup, as Ginny was a very good Seeker, and other changes to positions had left them with an excellent team, even without Harry.

***chapter end***


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 4:_

A couple of days before Harry's return on the train to his aunt and uncle's place, and unknown to him, Madam Pomfrey, with Professor Snape, made a special trip to give orders to his Aunt that he was to be well looked after, and especially, was to be fed well. As Snape's special potion only lasted a week before it lost its effectiveness, Snape was to visit weekly with a fresh supply, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey, who was to keep a close watch on his health. The Dursleys, of course, did not relish this special treatment of their nephew, but they were now so frightened of Harry and the magical world that he inhabited, that the orders were obeyed without question.

Harry's Uncle Vernon met him when he came home on the train, and while the Dursleys knew that he'd been ill, he was still astonished to see the painfully thin, slight figure emerge from the platform. Harry had an escort of his classmates, who were pushing his trolley. He had further lost ground in size and height this year, compared to his age-mates, and now looked frankly small beside them.

Ron and Dean walked with him all the way to his uncle's car, making sure that he wasn't asked to do anything beyond his strength. It was Dean who put his trunk in the boot, while Ron held Harry, who was beginning to sway dizzily. Harry's uncle said little, but took him home and up to his room, where he was grateful to lie down. For the first time ever, it was Uncle Vernon who carried his trunk up to his room. He was even provided with a meal on a tray, but he was very tired after the journey, and ate little.

The next morning, he was able to join the family at breakfast. Dudley was studying him, and suddenly said, "You're very thin!"

Harry was terse, "I've been sick."

Dudley was by now over six feet tall, with a large frame, and solidly muscled. "Dad's set me up a new gymnasium in the garage. Do you want to see?"

Harry looked up. This sounded almost like a peace offering. And maybe a gymnasium was just what he needed to help him return to normal strength. So he said, "Yes, I would like to see."

The car, as Harry had scarcely noticed the previous evening, was now housed in a new carport, and the garage had become a quite well set up gymnasium with a rowing machine, a couple of different varieties of punching bag, and a couple of other machines whose function was not immediately obvious. Dudley proudly demonstrated the various machines, and said, would-be casually, "By the way, I'm still school heavy weight boxing champion, and I'm going to be competing at national level soon."

Harry, whose view of Dudley's boxing prowess was from a different viewpoint, said, "Well done," but Dudley was oblivious to the irony in that cool voice, and the faint praise only added to his conceit.

A new relationship began to grow between the cousins. Harry tried out the machines, deciding that the rowing machine, especially, best suited the need for him to redevelop wasted muscles. He was still so lacking in strength that it was difficult to sustain even a minimal effort. He persevered. Dudley, surprisingly, took an interest, and they worked together, for the first time ever, toward a common goal - that of getting Harry stronger. Harry was surprised to find that Dudley could be this human, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were frankly amazed to find their son and their nephew apparently getting on reasonably well, with this new common interest.

Ruth Evans came to call one morning, a few days after his return from school. She was hoping to re-employ him in her shop. Aunt Petunia left her in the lounge with Harry, where he had been watching TV. Mrs. Evans was shocked at his drawn and haggard face, and when he stood to greet her, in the same clothes she had helped him buy, she saw that they hung off him, that the jeans were cinched in around his waist, and that he looked scarcely taller than he had done the previous year.

She was not surprised that he regretfully declined the job - he didn't look capable of crossing the room, let alone doing a full day's work. She didn't like to ask what was wrong with him, but looked at his still thick hair, and suddenly asked if he was getting the treatment he needed.

Harry, who sometimes seemed to read minds, smiled at her. "It's not cancer, and I'm not dying, so stop worrying!"

Mrs. Evans asked him to dinner instead. Harry valued the friendship of the Evans very much, and was quick to accept.

Mr. Evans called in the car for him a few days later, even though it was only a few blocks. For most people it would not have been a thing of any importance, just some pleasant conversation, a nice dinner, and a couple of hours playing unfamiliar computer games with the Evans boys. But Harry had been an outcast in the muggle world, and this acceptance meant a lot to him. Ruth Evans was perceptive, and made sure that he was taken back to Privet Drive before he became too tired.

Harry was seriously trying to build up his fitness now. As well as using Dudley's exercise machines, he was walking, trying to go a little further each day, and he was eating, discovering an enormous appetite for the first time since he became ill. He finally started putting on weight, to the pleasure of Madam Pomfrey, who was visiting every Thursday morning to check up on him. Professor Snape came with her, apparently just as an escort, and to deliver the potion. Harry was still too wary of Snape to ask why he didn't simply give the potion to the nurse to bring.

But only weeks after his return to the Dursleys, things took a turn for the worse. Harry was sitting on a bench in the nearby park one Saturday evening, when he noticed Dudley's gang tormenting a boy of about thirteen. He walked over, greeted the five, and told Malcolm, who was holding the boy firmly by the arm, to let go.

Malcolm, who knew him only as Dudley's victim of old, let the boy go, but grabbed Harry instead. Harry was no longer accustomed to being treated with such disrespect, and looked at Dudley and the others with a fiercer command on his face and in his voice, as he said coldly, and with emphasis, _"Let go!"_

Dudley was afraid, and said, trying not to appear nervous in front of his bullying mates, "Let him go. He's not worth wasting time on." Malcolm obeyed - Harry was not acting the victim, and somehow it made him hesitant. But the others didn't know that Harry was rather more than he appeared, and the skinniness of his frame roused their cruel instincts.

"Orders, now, eh, Potter," said one, abruptly taking over leadership from Dudley, and suddenly a kick swept Harry's legs from beneath him, and he fell, but twisting, so that he was quickly on his feet again and ready to dodge the punches that were raining on him. Dudley, with the accumulated spite of years, forgot the new relationship that had started to grow between them, and gave him a tremendous blow on the jaw that knocked him to the ground again, and came close to knocking him unconscious.

Harry was acutely aware that it was still a week until his birthday, and that underage magic could land him in serious trouble, as it had before. When he was hauled to his feet, and deprived by Dudley of his wand, he fought only with the conventional weapons of men everywhere, fists and feet. His reflexes were very quick, and he was able to dodge the heavier punches, and even land a few stinging blows of his own, but he was no match for the determined and experienced bullies, and he wound up curled on the ground, able to do no more than try to protect the more vulnerable areas of his body.

But when boots started crashing into his body, he realised that if he continued to do nothing, he might well be killed. He acted. A blast of magic sent five bullies sprawling, and a thought ensured that all five would suffer painful boils for the next few weeks. The other boys didn't know what had happened, but they knew what to do. They took to their heels and fled.

Harry lay on the ground, terribly beaten, feeling terribly weak, and in pain. At length, he righted himself, retrieved his wand, and sat on the ground against a tree, waiting for enough energy to return to make his way home. But there was a call, "There he is, Dad," and welcome help came in the form of the boy he had helped, with his father.

On seeing his state, they wanted to call an ambulance, but Harry, with the self-knowledge that he was already developing, knew that there was no damage that would not heal within a few days, and asked just to be taken back to the Dursleys. Dudley Dursley was well known in the area, and Mr. Chambers was rather averse to returning him there, but as Harry said, "Where else would I go?"

It seemed a long way to Harry as he struggled back, even with the help provided by Mr. Chambers on one side, and his son Michael on the other. He had already been frail from his illness, and the injuries he had suffered, although superficial, were painful.

Aunt Petunia made a show of concern when the Chambers were present, but her attitude changed when they left. "You've been fighting! Well, serve you right if you got yourself hurt. At least Dudley never turns up in this state."

Harry raised an ironic eyebrow at Dudley, who sat hunched on the couch, looking terrified, and rubbing a slight swelling on his arm, that looked a lot like a beginning boil.

Uncle Vernon was also looking critically at Harry, conscious that the boy had some powerful protectors who would be asking questions. "Do you need to go to hospital, boy?" he asked.

Harry declined, and without waiting for any more dubious offers of help, took himself painfully up the stairs.

He was very conscious that he had done magic, but no owls arrived from the Ministry, and he wondered if it was less detectable when no wand had been used.

He was up late the following day. Most unusually, Aunt Petunia had brought him breakfast in bed - a substantial breakfast, too, as she was still very mindful of the orders that Harry was to be well fed. After a slow shower, Harry dressed, and asked where Dudley was. "In the gym, I think," said Uncle Vernon, who was nearly always polite to Harry these days.

He found Dudley throwing a series of rapid punches at the small punching bag. He leaned against the wall, waiting for Dudley to notice his presence. When Dudley did see him, his fear of extreme retribution was betrayed by a sudden start. Harry was still leaning casually against the wall, a posture which conveniently concealed his allover weakness.

He surveyed Dudley, now undeniably cringing. Without any particular emphasis, Harry said "Never raise a finger against me again."

"No, Harry, never again," almost sobbed Dudley.

Without warning, Professor Snape strode in, with Madam Pomfrey following. Snape surveyed the scene - Harry leaning against the wall, considerable bruising on his face, but looking coolly in control, enormous Dudley huddled against the other wall, shivering.

Snape paused, and Harry could have sworn that, for a moment, he looked uncharacteristically amused. Then he gave Dudley the curt command, "Out." Dudley almost scuttled out.

"You're badly hurt. I'm surprised you allowed it," Snape said bitingly.

Harry pointed out, "I'm still underage. I don't want trouble."

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to Harry, and looked for a chair to sit him on. Snape lounged by the door, making Harry self-conscious. Usually, it was just he and Madam Pomfrey when she checked him over. "Come on, Harry, I have lotions for the bruising. Take off your clothes and let me see the damage."

"You could just leave me the lotions," suggested Harry, with the typical teenager's reluctance to undress in front of others.

Madam Pomfrey was having none of that nonsense, and he was soon stripped, with just underpants to protect his modesty. To his embarrassment, Snape was looking at him assessingly, taking in just how thin he still was, as well as the extensive and considerable bruising over most of his body.

Madam Pomfrey smeared his bruises with a violet lotion, that vanished seconds after it was laid on, and almost instantly reduced both the pain and the discolouration of the bruising. "Nothing broken, so no need for anything else," she stated.

Harry asked, "How did you know I got beaten up?"

"It was the Dark Lord," Snape said. "He collapsed, crying out with pain - in front of several of his followers, too, which is an excellent thing. The more face he loses, the more followers he'll lose. Most of them will only follow someone strong and ruthless."

Snape was being unusually forthcoming, but it was with a purpose. He had a strong suspicion that Harry had it within his ability to do a lot more toward undermining Voldemort's position than the incident that had just occurred.

"Do you need to be removed from here, Harry?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"No," said Harry. "It won't happen again. And anyway, Dumbledore says I'm to stay here." He added, "What I do need is to learn apparation, and to get my Apparation license as soon as possible when I turn seventeen next week. I need to get some supplies from Diagon Alley, too."

"I'll see what can be arranged," said Snape, "But I doubt if it's a good idea for you to be seen in Diagon Alley at the moment."

Harry suddenly tried again to get some information, and demanded, "_Why _am I in such danger? I thought Voldemort wanted me left alone!"

But Snape merely said, "You have more enemies than Voldemort, you know," and refused to say any more. Harry knew only, as Dumbledore had told him, that there were rumours and whispers - that someone, and someone powerful, was out to get Harry Potter. He was sure that Dumbledore and Snape, too, knew more than they would tell him.

Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape were preparing to leave, and he said awkwardly, "Thanks for coming. I do feel a lot better now."

Madam Pomfrey patted him on the shoulder, and said merely, "We'll see you Thursday morning as usual."

Oddly, the relationship between Harry and Dudley resumed as if the beating had never happened, although Dudley was finding it difficult to do his usual exercises, due to the nasty boils he had developed over much of his body. Aunt Petunia fussed and Dudley complained, while Harry watched unmoved. A few boils was little enough revenge, after all, for such a severe beating.

The next day, he had visitors - young Michael Chambers, who had helped him return to his home, and Ruth Evans, who had heard from the Chambers that he'd been badly beaten, and had come to check up on him. Even Mrs. Figg dropped in, to Aunt Petunia's displeasure. All these visitors for Harry Potter were beginning to annoy her. And she didn't at all like the way Ruth Evans looked at her.

Thursday came, the day before Harry's seventeenth birthday, which is the coming of age in the wizarding world. Professor Snape arrived with Madam Pomfrey as usual, but this time Arthur Weasley was with them. Harry beamed at Mr. Weasley, and asked after his family, especially including Ron, whom he had not heard from for some days, and Ginny, for whom he had a special fondness.

Mr. Weasley beamed at him, "You can see them yourself in a little while. You're coming home with me for a couple of days."

Harry was delighted, and could scarcely restrain his impatience as Madam Pomfrey took him off for his usual examination. She was more thorough than usual, but the bruises had left no trace, and Harry was as fit as could be expected.

Snape handed him the bottle of potion, his supply for the coming week, and Harry swiftly packed. He informed Aunt Petunia that he would be back in a couple of days, (gone were the days when he had to ask permission,) and joyfully left with Mr. Weasley, who walked with him to the nearby house of Mrs. Figg. Mrs. Figg welcomed them, always pleased to see him. The reason for this call soon became clear, as Mr. Weasley went to Mrs. Figg's fireplace, and took up a can of floo powder.

The Weasleys were grouped and waiting for him. Mrs. Weasley immediately grabbed and hugged Harry, a procedure which he secretly cherished, having lost his own mother so young. She, of course, instantly exclaimed at Harry's continuing thinness, and resolved to feed him up as much as possible.

Ron and Ginny were waiting, as well as Hermione, who had been collected for the occasion. Harry had the broadest of grins on his face, as he hugged the girls, and shook Ron's hand with such pleasure that it might as well have been a hug. "I didn't expect to see you this year," he said.

Hermione said, "It's for your birthday. We're having a birthday party. And first thing in the morning, Madam Bones from the Ministry is going to be here to teach you apparation personally. She can give you a license straightaway if you're quick enough to learn, Mr. Weasley says."

"Great," said Harry. "I was planning to teach myself, but this will be a lot easier."

Mr. Weasley was quite shocked, "No, No, No. Don't _ever _try to apparate unless you know exactly what you're doing. And never, ever try to apparate if you are drunk, or injured, or even tired, or indeed not fully fit in any way. It can be very dangerous."

And Harry, who was certainly not fully fit, said obediently, "No, Mr. Weasley."

The following day, Madam Bones was at the Weasley's house promptly at 8.00am. She rather doubted that anyone could learn the art of apparation in one day, but had been assured by Dumbledore himself that Harry had a remarkable talent for all types of magic. And the ability to apparate would undoubtedly make Harry a lot safer from attack. Ron, who was a few months older than Harry, had been learning since the holidays began, and was to go for the test also.

Hermione was also older than Harry, but her parents were muggles, and she had so far had no chance to learn. Madam Bones had been talked into making an exception for Harry, whose life was in constant danger, but she was not willing to extend that tolerance to Hermione, talented witch or not. Instead, she reminded her that Hogwarts always gave apparation lessons to seventh years after end of year exams.

Harry found apparation perfectly easy, not having any trouble with straight apparation, or apparating to a dark place, and only needing a few practice runs before he was confident apparating to coordinates. When he wanted to learn to apparate silently, however, Madam Bones was at a loss.

"It always makes that noise," she said. "That's the way apparation is."

Harry pointed out, "Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters can apparate silently, and so can Dumbledore. And the noise of apparation is an awful giveaway."

Madam Bones, who had never had to fight, could yet appreciate the advantage of a touch of sneakiness sometimes. But she didn't even know anyone who had the ability to apparate silently. He had to be satisfied, for the time being, with normal apparation.

He also wanted to know how far one can apparate, and was told it was harder with increasing distance. That while most competent wizards could apparate some hundreds of miles, thousands of miles were out of the question. He was handed his license. Ron took the test, and also was given a license.

Another reason for celebration was that a few days before, Ron and Hermione had learned that they were appointed head boy and girl, something that they took with a lot more modesty than Ron's brother Percy had shown a few years before. Mrs. Weasley was thrilled with Ron, and he was currently basking in the glow of parental approval.

Harry would have liked to go to Diagon Alley - he hadn't been there for a long time, and now that he was of age and could apparate besides, no-one could actually forbid him from going wherever he pleased. But his sense of caution was well established, and he agreed to have Mrs. Weasley collect his school things yet again.

He was delighted with his birthday party that evening, the very first birthday party he could ever remember having. Aside from the Weasleys, including Fred and George, only Hermione was present. More guests had been deemed too risky, but this made no difference to Harry, who was thrilled that they had gone to the trouble for him.

Late that night, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were still laughing and chattering, as Harry sat quietly in an armchair, listening, but no longer taking part. He was still not strong, and the day had been a long one. But only when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came down to hush the noise, was it noticed that he was perfectly peacefully asleep, and had to be woken to go to bed.

Mrs. Weasley had to be discouraged from going with him, as she was firmly convinced that he needed to be tucked in like a small child.

Came morning, and soon after breakfast, it was time to leave. Boys of just seventeen are seldom willing to be hugged by mothers, especially by someone else's mother, but Harry had had too few motherly hugs in his life, and besides he was very grateful to Mrs. Weasley for the affection she unstintingly gave him. He went to her for his hug, and she kissed his cheek, a caress that her own sons had all rebelled against by the time they entered their teens. Then carefully rolled and pocketed the parchment that was his Apparation license, and departed with Mr. Weasley.

After the cheer at the Weasley house, the overly neat garden and obsessive cleanliness of his aunt and uncle's home, was slightly depressing. But he was used to it, and also mindful that next year, when he finished school, it would merely be to pack his things, say goodbye, and move to Sirius Black's house, which had been left to him.

He found Dudley in the gymnasium as usual, working out obsessively. Dudley was spending less time with his friends these days, which may have been due to pain caused by boils, or may have been due to the fright he had had. The fear was caused not only by Harry's magic, but he had also given some thought to what they had so nearly done. The gang had lost control that night, and Dudley, with rare insight, knew that it was entirely possible that if Harry had not managed to stop them, he and his friends might now be facing a murder charge. Large Dudley was very subdued, and in four other households, there were also some bullies who had been thinking hard about crime and punishment.

Dudley looked around, and said hello, and then, to Harry's utmost surprise, said, "Here, I've got a birthday present for you," and handed over a small package.

A little suspicious, Harry nevertheless thanked him politely, and began to open the present. But sure enough, it was a genuine present, not expensive, but chosen with a view to Harry's needs. Dudley had given Harry a pedometer, a device to measure how far he had walked. Harry was pleased out of all proportion to the size of the present, comprehending that it was also an apology that poor Dudley was too awkward to otherwise manage.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had, as usual, ignored his birthday, but Harry had expected nothing else, and was perfectly satisfied that they treated him with normal courtesy. He continued to visit the Evans family now and then, becoming a bit of a favourite with the boys, who were always happy to demonstrate their latest computer games for him.

**chapter end***


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 5_:

The last weeks of the summer holiday went by. Harry was still working hard to build up his strength with weights and exercise machines, and his fitness with longer and longer walks. He was eating well, too, appreciating Aunt Petunia's cooking in a way he had never done previously. His aunt, like Dudley, had begun to observe the lessening of that look of haggard ill health that he had worn, and she, like Dudley, took credit for his improvement.

In the post, a few days before his return to school, Harry received an official looking letter from the Ministry of Magic. He wasn't in trouble - it was merely an advice that Harry was to be provided with a Ministry car for his protection, and would be escorted by an auror to the platform, so that he could be seen safely onto the school train.

Harry was grateful. It meant that he didn't have to ask his uncle for a lift, and he knew of the smooth efficiency of the Ministry cars from previous experience. A niggling worry was left however, as he remembered the useless potions that he had been given, and he sent Hedwig with a message to Arthur Weasley asking whether he should not rather go independently. Mr. Weasley was reassuring. He not only knew about the Ministry car, he said, he had suggested it.

The day came, and the sleek car pulled up smoothly in front of the house, exactly on time. Harry struggled downstairs with trunk and Hedwig's cage, only belatedly remembering that he was allowed to use magic now that he was of age, which was an enormous help with the heavy trunk.

The driver, with practised courtesy, stowed his trunk in the boot, and two wizards who had emerged from the back seat, introduced themselves as aurors for his protection. The first took Hedwig's cage from him, and put it in the front seat next to the driver.

A rear door was opened for Harry, and he got in, immediately followed by the second wizard, who leaned casually over Harry, and smoothly took his wand from his pocket. "For everyone's protection," he was saying blandly, but Harry had not lived so long by being trusting. He was pulling at the door handle without a moment's hesitation, but needed a surge of magic to open the locked door. The auror grabbed at him, but he was out of the car and around its bonnet almost instantly.

The first auror was still waiting there. He apparently still thought that the situation could be retrieved peacefully, and asked, with a fair semblance of innocence, "What's the matter, Harry?"

Harry wanted Hedwig out, and answered warily, "He took my wand."

"Well, naturally. You had it in your jeans pocket didn't you? You must know that's dangerous, especially in a car. What if we go over a bump?"

Harry didn't believe a word of it, but thought he might as well try guile as well. He gave a rather exaggerated sigh of relief, and said, "Sorry, I guess I'm a bit overly nervous these days," and he walked casually toward the auror, saying, "Just want to check on Hedwig, before we go - she probably thought something was wrong."

He opened the front car door, still casually, quickly opened Hedwig's cage door, and whispered to her, "Go to Dumbledore."

Hedwig flew out of the cage door, and straight into the face of the first auror, who had come closer to Harry, ready to grab him if he attempted escape. This gave Harry just enough time to step back out of reach. He said, "Look, thanks for your help, but I've decided I might just as well apparate," and as both aurors grabbed for their wands, he disapparated, even then regretting the crack in the air that he knew he was making. He _really _wanted to be silent.

He made his way to the railway platform in two steps, not having had sufficient time to be accurate when he disapparated. His first move had been just around the corner, but the second, a more studied effort, took him to the platform where the Hogwarts train would soon be waiting. He was early, without his wand and without his luggage, but he was convinced that he had done the right thing getting out of that car. Dumbledore would fix things, he was sure, as soon as he could get to him. He did think of trying to apparate to Hogwarts, but it was a long way, and it was only weeks since he had learned the difficult skill.

Ignoring the seats provided on the platform, he leaned against the wall, alert and wary. After a time, the two aurors appeared, pushing a trolley with his trunk, and the empty cage. They looked around, seeing him. He tensed, waiting to see what they would do. Although there were hardly any people there so far, he knew that there would be before long, all of them potential witnesses to any possible attack. In fact, another three wizards had just arrived.

The two aurors were still trying the reasonable approach. "You're being very silly, Harry," said one, as they approached. "We _are _here for your protection, after all."

Watching them carefully, prepared to disapparate again if he had to, he said flatly, "I don't trust you. Keep back!"

He was watching the wrong wizards, and the attack came suddenly and from both sides as a wizard apparated each side of him, and a needle was jabbed into his side. Harry twisted, and let loose a blast of magic that knocked over both wizards, who quickly scrambled back. He was thoroughly alarmed now, not reassured as he recognised Dawlish, an auror who had once attempted to arrest Dumbledore. He was already feeling the effects of the drug in his system.

Viciously, he threw the thought of boils at the five men, tempted, but refraining from doing something far worse. Already his head was swimming, and he had lost the opportunity to safely disapparate.

The five men were staying at a respectful distance, apparently waiting for his collapse, but Harry had too much fighting spirit to submit tamely, even to a drug. He was still fighting, still standing, still able to wield power as the first wizard to step forward found out. Harry knocked him sprawling,

The men were getting worried, and were looking apprehensively at the entry to the platform. One conjured an ambulance trolley, and two touched wands to their robes which changed to the distinctive garb of mediwizards, and Harry knew real fear.

Potential help came - he spotted the Creevey brothers emerging from the entrance, pushing their trolleys. "Colin, Dennis! Over here," he called, loudly and urgently, "Help me!"

The Creevey brothers had always worshipped Harry, and were unquestioningly loyal. He could not have had more willing help. They were at his side in an instant. Desperately clinging to consciousness and rationality, Harry said, "They've drugged me - they're trying to take me away," and uncharacteristically pleading, "Please don't let them take me away."

The Creevey brothers flanked Harry, looking defiantly at the men surrounding him. The men knew that their chances of taking Harry peacefully were now diminishing with every moment that passed. One said to the Creeveys, "Potter is very sick. We have to take him to St. Mungo's."

Harry repeated, as blackness threatened to overtake him, "Please don't let them take me away." The Creevey brothers had their wands drawn, but still hesitated, and when three of the wizards stepped purposefully toward Harry, it was Harry who gathered himself and again sent them sprawling to the platform.

They backed off again, one drew his wand, but a murmur from another had him put it away again. Harry was still bent on keeping them away from him, and all five suddenly found that their shoes were smoking, burning their toes. They swore, retreating further, and their shoes cooled down.

More students started arriving, and Dennis called loudly, insistently, "Over here! They're trying to take Harry away!" and the students, most of whom viewed Harry with a mixture of awe and protectiveness, milled around Harry, creating a barrier that the aurors could not readily overcome. He no longer had to make explanations, as Colin, Dennis, and quite soon, other students were doing it for him.

More and more of the student body arrived to surround him in a protective crowd. But it was only when Hermione arrived at his side that he thought he might be safe. He was still fighting the drug, still on his feet, but clinging to the wall. His vision was clouding, but he would not lie down. His head hung, and he was scarcely aware when Ron and Dean moved, one to each side, to support him.

He was not yet out of danger. The aurors were impressing the adults present with their Ministry identification cards, apparent authority, and an appearance of rationality. Harry Potter was sick, they said, and must be taken to hospital. See, here is the ambulance trolley right here. The adults were wavering, especially those ones who were Ministry employees themselves. Some of them were on the point of ordering their children to stand aside, when a tall, blonde youth strolled forward to join the discussion.

"I know what you're doing," drawled Draco Malfoy, to the aurors, "You want to put Harry away, to keep him sick, so that the Dark Lord will be no trouble to you. My father told me. You're wrong, you know. Our best chance against Voldemort is to have Harry alive, free and well. He's the only one who can defeat him."

Draco had inherited his father's authoritative presence as well as his height. People had listened to Lucius Malfoy, and now they listened to his almost adult son. Casually, Draco turned to the other students. "Get Harry on the train. He's coming back to Hogwarts."

The word was sent back to Ron and Dean, at the rear of the crowd with Harry, and they turned him to the train. It was a question whether Harry could even see the train. He hadn't heard it pull into the station. Ron and Dean half carried Harry to the train, yet more students shielding him from the view of the aurors. Draco, with cool insolence, organised a couple of fifth year Slytherins to take Harry's trunk and put it on the train.

Harry was propped against the corner of his carriage. His eyes were still open, but it was fairly obvious that he could not fight the drug for much longer.

Professor Dumbledore abruptly appeared on the platform and was striding toward the aurors looking furious. A jumble of explanation was thrown at him, which he seemed to comprehend instantly.

"What have you done?"

"Potter's very sick, he must be taken to hospital."

The words glanced off Dumbledore without apparently making the slightest impression. Unerringly, his eyes focussed on one particular wizard. "What is the drug?"

The wizard answered truthfully, immediately, as if he had no choice, and perhaps he hadn't. "It's a muggle tranquilliser, supposed to be very quick acting. Potter should be out for about three hours."

Dumbledore stated firmly, as if it were not already obvious. "Harry Potter is returning to Hogwarts."

One of the aurors shrugged, reached into his pocket, and passed Harry's wand to Dumbledore, "I guess he'll be needing this, then. I hope for all our sakes that he succeeds, although our way would have been more sure." Managing not to look defeated, he vanished the ambulance trolley and walked away. The other four, after a moment's hesitation, followed him.

Professor Dumbledore turned and strode toward Harry's carriage. On entering, he found him propped up in the corner, face strained, but eyes half closed and glazed. "Dumbledore," he said, in a tone of inexpressible relief.

Dumbledore said, "Here's your wand, Harry. You're coming back to Hogwarts."

"Thank you," sighed Harry, and his vision was already fading as Dumbledore said with utmost gentleness, "You can stop fighting the drug now, Harry. You're safe, and with your friends."

Hermione was looking at Harry's face. "He's not as thin," she said softly.

Dumbledore smiled at her, "No, Miss Granger," he said, "He's not as thin."

"Now," he continued, "I want you and Mr. Weasley to stay with him. At least one of you should be with him at all times, but you'll need to collect your trunks, I believe." Trunks were being collected all over the platform, from where they'd been abandoned in the commotion. "Any prefects' duties you have will need to be delegated this time. The train is protected, of course, so it should be a peaceful journey."

Ron asked, worried by Harry's pale face, and stillness, "He is all right, isn't he?"

"He's been injected with a muggles drug - he should sleep for about three hours, according to the auror. Mind you, the auror also said that it was supposed to have been a quick acting drug. I think our Harry might be very lucky that it was not!" He looked at Hermione, "Just keep him comfortable and warm, Miss Granger. That's all that needs doing right now."

Colin Creevey, at the door with his brother, offered to get Ron and Hermione's trunks for them, and Dean slipped off to get his, too. Meantime Dumbledore went to have a word with the train driver. Its departure had never before been so late.

Hermione conjured a pillow, and gently lifted Harry's head onto it. He didn't stir. He was cold to the touch, so she conjured some blankets, warmed them, and tucked them around him. There was nothing else to do then, and she sat back, feeling rather at a loss. In spite of what Professor Dumbledore had said about the train being protected, she was glad when Neville joined them, as well as Ginny, with Luna. She felt the more potential defenders there were, the safer he was.

The Creevey brothers brought their trunks, telling them in excited tones as much as they knew, about Harry calling them, explaining about the drug, that he didn't seem to have his wand, and yet had knocked three men off their feet when they had started to approach, how their shoes had seemed to smoke. The Creeveys left then, to find their own particular friends, and having being first on the scene, to enjoy their celebrity status.

The train left the station finally, and Hermione relaxed a bit more. They were on their way.

Hermione and the others were talking about Harry's struggle. It was unknown for a wizard, especially such a young one, to be able to do conscious, directed magic without using a wand, although certain very powerful wizards could do some magic in that way. But all of them knew that accidental magic could occur when a witch or wizard was frightened, or angry, and finally concluded that this was what the Creeveys had witnessed.

"Didn't he accidentally blow up his aunt a few years ago?" Ginny asked, having heard the story. Only Hermione wondered. From the Creeveys' description, Harry hadn't moved, not even to lift a hand, but the magic had seemed entirely purposeful. They talked about whether it was possible that someone else had intervened, and that it was not Harry at all who had knocked over the wizards. They discounted talk of smoking shoes, and no-one knew that five wizards were going to suffer the indignity of boils for the next few months.

In the Ministry of Magic, a similar discussion was proceeding, with more evidence to go on. Several of them had been knocked over, some more than once, they had definitely felt their feet burning, and a car door that had been magically sealed shut, had been opened and locked again behind him. And yet they came to the same conclusion that the students did, that the boy had been very frightened, and had made magic happen without quite realising what he was doing. Helping them to this conclusion was the fact that Harry had made no indication that he was doing magic. It seemed to have just happened.

Five wizards were to suffer from boils for the next few months, but they were all highly qualified aurors, a touch arrogant, and too proud to compare notes. And some of those boils were in very private areas. Two did tell their separate healers that they suspected a spell, but each mediwizard performed the countercurse for boils, and as no difference was noted, it was concluded that Harry Potter had nothing to do with their problems.

In the train carriage, Harry still slept quietly. A procession of students visited, looking at him curiously, and asking if he was all right. Hermione and Ron felt they could not deny them entry, as each of these students had played their part in keeping him safe, but after a while, Hermione adjusted the blankets around him to more conceal his face, knowing how he would have hated to be under such constant scrutiny.

After a couple of hours, he started to sleep more fitfully. He thrust the blankets away from his arms, as if to ensure their freedom, frowned in his sleep, and muttered unhappily. Hermione moved to him, speaking to him, telling him that he was safe, and on the train.

Harry blearily opened his eyes, and Hermione handed him his glasses, which he automatically took. But he was quite obviously still under the influence of the drug. Hermione remembered what Dumbledore had said to Harry, that he no longer had to fight the drug, and she repeated his words. This time it seemed to penetrate, and Harry went straight back into a deep sleep.

Draco Malfoy was lounging at the door, watching curiously. His vitally important intervention on the platform was known to the others, and he was not driven away. "Do you think he can really beat Voldemort," he asked them, looking at the slight, huddled figure in the corner.

"Yes," said Ron, with confidence, "He'll win all right! He has before, he will again."

Neville asked Draco, "Is that right, what you were saying, that they want to put him away."

"That's what my father told me," said Draco, and strolled off, carrying himself as if he owned the train and everything in it, instead of being the son of the wanted criminal, Lucius Malfoy, a known supporter of Voldemort.

Another hour went by, and Harry was becoming more aware of things. The quiet conversations of his friends reassured him, so that he did not try to force the return to consciousness, but lay back peacefully in his corner. But obviously he had been turning over in his mind the events at the station, for out of the blue, he said, "Malfoy's going to have a field day with this - carried onto the train in a faint!"

"Harry," exclaimed Ron, turning to him in surprise, although Hermione had had a good notion that he was no longer asleep. "You're awake! Are you all right?"

Harry rather stiffly straightened himself, and said, "Yes - just worried about how long it'll take to live down this bit of stupidity!"

Ginny joined the conversation. "What's to live down? From what we hear, you were holding off five Ministry Aurors, by yourself, drugged, and without a wand!"

"I should have apparated straight to Hogwarts at the start. It's my own fault I got injected with that damn drug."

Even now, he felt the edges of sleep pulling at him. The adult dose he had been given was more than was needed for the underweight boy. But it was time to be up and doing, and he soon saw that everyone else had already changed into their school robes. He followed suit therefore, although betraying himself with a sudden sway of weakness. The others tactfully ignored it, knowing from long experience that he hated to have his health discussed.

"By the way, Harry." said Ginny. "You mentioned Malfoy. Well, I think you might be wrong about him giving you a hard time - he was the hero of the hour." And Ginny and Luna, who had seen it, told Harry the story of Malfoy's intervention in the debate, which had certainly prevented a lot of friction. For most of the students felt a tremendous loyalty to Harry, and would not willingly have given him up, whatever their parents said.

The story was not long told when Draco Malfoy himself, returned. Harry stood up, extended a hand to Draco, and said simply, "Thank you. I _really _didn't want to go with those men." They shook hands.

Malfoy studied Harry, finally saying in his supercilious drawl, "Well, at least you no longer look like death," and Harry, predictably, flushed.

Ron was looking at Malfoy with some hostility. "What _I_ want to know," he said aggressively, "Is what your motive was."

Draco Malfoy lounged in the doorway - tall, fair, arrogant. He said to all of them, "You've never really understood about Slytherins, have you? We're not _bad_ you know. Slytherins just like to be on the winning team. My father says it's looking like the Dark Lord is on his way out, so I guess that puts me on Potter's team."

Harry blinked at Malfoy, and finally said, rather weakly, "Good."

He put in the effort required to act as if he was feeling entirely fit, although the drug, as well as his fight to avoid capture, had left him feeling tired and slightly sick. But he'd had had enough of being an invalid, and refused to admit that he would rather be in bed than enjoying a start of term feast. Hermione knew, but then, Hermione always knew things like that, whether she said anything or not. He endured, eating little, greeting and thanking the constant stream of visitors to the table where he sat.

When Dumbledore came to his usual short speech at the end of the meal, he made a few announcements, and then said, "I have never been so proud of my students, as this morning when they came to the aid of one of their own. I refer to Harry Potter of course, who was in deep trouble. By your determination, and because you were united, you allowed him to return to us. I thank you."

Harry had looked down, abashed, when his escape was first mentioned, but suddenly realised he had something to do, and he gazed hard at Dumbledore, who hesitated, looked at him, and said, "I believe Harry wants to say something." So Harry, with some dignity, but a heightened colour, stood. The students were silent, as respectful as they had been for Dumbledore.

Harry said, "I just wanted to say how grateful I am to all of you for your help, but especially to Colin and Dennis Creevey, who came to me first, and to Draco Malfoy, who, I'm told, played a crucial part a bit later."

The students cheered as he sat down. The feast was over, and brand new prefects importantly led the first years to their respective common rooms. The older students gathered, chatted, and finally proceeded to their own common rooms at a more leisurely pace. Professor Dumbledore was watching the slight figure of Harry as he left the room. 'The boy's developing a real presence,' he was thinking. 'What a wizard he's going to be.'

***chapter end***


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 6:_

Timetables were handed out, and school resumed. Harry was pleased to be fit enough to do a full day's work without too much fatigue. Over the coming week, he found that each of his teachers had prepared special study schedules for him. As he was already brilliantly competent in much of the practical work in the classroom, he was to either participate in classes, or sit at the back of the room and do his study sheets, as he himself thought fit. A further provision was that he was forbidden to do more than a maximum of an hour's study or homework outside of classes each day.

An order less to his liking was that he was to visit Madam Pomfrey every Thursday, straight after classes, an order that made him sigh and decide to start 'forgetting' as soon as he thought he could get away with it. But the last class on Thursday was with Professor McGonnagal, who gave Harry no chance to avoid his appointment. She escorted him personally to the hated hospital wing, and left him with Madam Pomfrey, who measured his weight, as usual, gave him his usual general checkover, and last of all, measured his height. And Harry was absolutely delighted to be told that he was nearly an inch taller than he had been before the school holidays.

Another good thing was that he was allowed to cease taking Snape's potion. Although he had become used to the morning and evening ritual, and knew that the potion had been of great benefit to him, taking it was a constant reminder of illness, which he wanted to forget as soon as possible.

Madam Pomfrey gave him the lecture he had heard before - he was not to attempt too much, he was to make sure that he ate well, that he went to bed early, etcetera. Harry appeared to listen gravely, but his mind was on a quick escape, rather than the very good advice he was getting.

The nurse finally finished, then smiled, and said, to his surprise, "Come with me."

With a longing glance out the window, he followed her. To his bewilderment, Madam Pomfrey was joined by Professors Dumbledore and McGonnagal. Following their lead, he found himself in the large room adjacent to the hospital, a space that had always been empty. Its original use had been forgotten, but now Harry was stunned to find himself in a well equipped gymnasium. He was totally taken off his guard, staring around, wordless.

Professor Dumbledore said, "It's not just for you, of course, Harry, it's for any of our students and staff who like to use it. I've come to the conclusion that you and your large cousin have the right idea - that wizards have too long ignored the benefits of physical education."

Harry was still silent, but Dumbledore, looking at his face, was entirely satisfied with the effect of his little surprise. It may have been for the use of all the students and staff, as the headmaster said, but Harry knew that mostly, this was a gift for him. He wanted to throw himself in Dumbledore's arms and weep, but that, of course, would have been unthinkable. So, with an effort, he assumed his customary control, and turned to Professor Dumbledore, "It's wonderful. Thank you. I'm sure that there will be a lot of people who will use it," although actually he was sure of no such thing.

The new facility was announced at breakfast the following morning, and while it was inspected by most people, it was only ever Harry who used it regularly.

Harry, these days, had been given the password to Professor Dumbledore's office, and was encouraged to go to him if he needed anything, or if he had anything to tell Dumbledore. The old headmaster had a shrewd suspicion that he had secrets. Unlike the aurors at the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore did not discount the possibility that he did indeed have almost unprecedented powers of magic.

But Harry held his counsel, always using a wand in public, although practising his other method in private. He found he could do almost anything without a wand, that he could do with a wand, although he still found he preferred to use a wand when conjuring. One of the most useful things he had learned the previous year, was also perfectly mundane, he found he could remove his rather slight beard growth every morning by simply passing his hands over his face.

He was also regularly checking up on Voldemort, but Voldemort was not very active these days, recovering, as Harry was, but apparently at a loss as to his next move.

_**x**_

It was two weeks later, and Harry was called to a meeting with the members of the Order of the Phoenix who were at Hogwarts - Professor Snape, Professor McGonnagal, and Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Snape spoke directly to Harry when he appeared. "It's now clear that your health somehow affects Voldemort's health - perhaps it's something to do with your blood being used in the Potion that gave him back his body. Now Voldemort's already lost face with his followers - unexplained ill health, the sudden collapse when you were beaten, etcetera. We think it's an excellent idea if this continues - not, of course, by having you put away and kept ill, as we assume was the idea behind your attempted abduction, but by ensuring a few more sudden faints, especially when Voldemort is addressing a group of his followers. So here's the idea. At a time that we know when Voldemort has his followers with him, and we have a very good idea of the times of his meetings, I stun you, you collapse, and Voldemort faints."

Harry recoiled. He hated the idea of being stunned by Snape, and he found a sudden extreme reluctance to be stunned by anyone, or indeed, put under any spell. This was not entirely rational, as he and his friends had often practised spells by using them on each other. Thinking about it, though, he realised he had avoided such treatment for some time, but then, Hermione had always been reluctant, too.

Snape impatiently interrupted his continued silence. "Well, what about it?"

Harry still said nothing, trying to work out within himself why he felt so reluctant.

"What's the matter, Harry?" asked Professor McGonnagal, a lot more gently. "Is it your health? Madam Pomfrey says that you're quite healthy enough now to withstand a stun spell."

Professor Dumbledore had been watching Harry, and although he'd shown no emotion, somehow guessed at the turmoil within. "You don't have to do it if you don't want, Harry - no-one will try and force you," although from the look on Snape's face, this may not have been entirely true.

With an effort, Harry said, "No, it's a good plan. Of course I'll do it."

"Probably Friday evening, then. I'll let you know," Snape said briskly. Harry knew from his own private source of information that Voldemort frequently met his followers on Fridays.

For the next two days, he felt restless and unhappy. He found it difficult to concentrate on study, and found a need to walk so great that he slipped out of bounds, and walked until he shook with fatigue. He'd told Ron and Hermione what was planned, and they thought it an excellent idea. He didn't tell them that he was afraid, as there was no logical reason for his fear, but when Professor Snape came for him, Ron and Hermione accompanied him. Snape made no objection.

He led the way to an empty classroom, Hermione conjured some cushions, but, looking at Harry's set face, tactfully went to wait outside the door. Snape took out his wand.

"Why don't you lie down, Harry," said Ron, "Save bruises." But Harry flatly refused. He may have agreed to be stunned, but he would have felt a lot worse lying down waiting for the blow.

Professor Snape raised his wand, Harry was tense. Quietly, Snape said the word, "_Stupefy_," and the spell streaked toward him. Harry threw out a hand, and the spell was deflected onto the floor.

Snape looked at him in amazement. "Nobody can do that!"

Harry was uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to."

Snape was still staring at him. "You deflected it with your bare hand! I've never heard of such a thing."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Snape, still struck, said, "Dumbledore'll be interested in hearing _this_ when he comes back!" But then he said, "Well, come on. We've got to get on with it, or our chance will be lost. We'll try again, and this time, Potter, try and keep your hands at your sides!"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, and he looked at the window, holding his hands firmly at his sides, as Snape threw another spell. He only flinched this time, but again, the spell was deflected.

Snape, unusually, swore. Harry looked miserable, feeling thoroughly guilty. "All right, Potter, maybe this is a problem of lack of trust, so how about we see if you are willing to allow Miss Granger to do the spell."

Hermione was called in, and the situation explained. "You're deflecting the spells!" she repeated in amazement! Nobody can do that."

"I don't mean to."

"We've stunned each other loads of times in practice."

"I know," said Harry, still looking and feeling guilty.

Hermione asked earnestly, "Do you truly agree to be stunned, because you don't have to, you know, Harry."

"It's a good plan, Hermione. Voldemort has already lost face, his Death Eaters are even arguing with him now, sometimes. If it continues, his power will be broken."

So Hermione arranged some cushions on the floor for Harry to fall on, and Harry waited for her to perform the spell. This time, the spell was not deflected, and Harry fell limp onto the cushions. Hermione knelt, and gently lifted his head onto a cushion.

Snape briskly said, "Well, that's done then. We'll leave him half an hour or so, unless he revives earlier."

But Hermione, still kneeling next to Harry, said in a strained voice, "Professor Snape..."

Snape glanced down, and again he swore. Harry had become very pale, and his breathing had died away almost to nothing. He snapped, " , run to Madam Pomfrey, tell her what has happened, and that I'm bringing Potter to her straightaway."

Ron ran. Hermione, her face in her hands, cried, "This is why he didn't want to be stunned. He must have somehow known!"

Snape, his own face rather pale, said, "Don't be silly, Miss Granger. No-one knew this would happen!"

He gently lifted Harry onto the stretcher he had conjured, raised it with his wand, and headed toward the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was waiting, and they transferred Harry to his old bed nearest the Nurses' station, where a close watch could be kept.

Then began a tense few hours, as Harry again hovered between life and death, scarcely breathing, heartbeat faint and irregular. Hedwig flew in, and was allowed to take her place perched on the bedhead.

Another hour went by, and Harry gradually improved, his heartbeat becoming less erratic, and his breathing more regular. These signs of returning life were greeted with relief - by Hermione with tears.

Dumbledore arrived, and was told what had happened. "Madam Pomfrey, I'd like to see the mark where the Death Curse hit. Can you help me turn him?" and Harry was turned on his side, and his back inspected. The curse mark was exactly as it had been from the first, slightly reddened, slightly swollen, and presumably, slightly tender, although, this time, there was no sign from Harry as the mark was gently pressed.

When Harry finally opened his eyes it was mid-morning of the following day. He felt weak and ill, and found it hard to understand when it was explained to him what had happened. Still too tired to worry about it, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

For another day, and most of another, his extreme weakness persisted, but life started to return to him in the late afternoon of the third day after the spell. Madam Pomfrey came to him, seeming pleased with his improvement. She helped him raise himself, and gave him some potion to drink, which he did. And sank into a deep sleep that persisted into the night.

Healer Smethwyck had arrived that afternoon, authorised by the Ministry of Magic to take over Harry's treatment. Professor Dumbledore had been called away again, so had not yet met the mediwizard. Madam Pomfrey was filled with all the old fashioned nurse's exaggerated respect for the qualified mediwizard, and Healer Smethwyck was highly qualified and very well regarded, as Madam Pomfrey well knew.

One of Healer Smethwyck's first initiatives was to suggest that Madam Pomfrey follow the general rule of St. Mungo's, that patients' wands should be locked away to prevent delirious patients possibly doing damage or hurting people. This had indeed happened from time to time, and seemed logical, although usually a sick wizard quite quickly lost his ability to work magic. So Harry's wand was taken from his bedside table and locked away in the office. Hedwig was also banned, and was sent back to the owlery.

Six hours after he'd taken the potion, Healer Smethwyck told Madam Pomfrey that it was time he had another dose, even though he was still sleeping. Smethwyck asked John, one of the hospital assistants, to accompany him as he approached the bed.

Harry was raised by the wardsman, but at the disturbance, Harry, with his acute and well honed sense of danger, awoke. A stranger was close, holding a drink to his lips. He raised a hand, thrusting away the drink, and demanded, "Who are you?"

"It's all right, Harry," soothed Madam Pomfrey, who was standing nearby, "This is Healer Smethwyck. He's come especially to look after you."

On his guard, and by now a little stronger, Harry sat himself up in his bed, and said, still warily, "How do you do."

Healer Smethwyck, who had hoped to have him drink the potion while still only half aware, was a little put out, but still confident. Smiling benignly, he offered him the potion again, but Harry said, "No, thank you, I don't like potions."

"You have to take it, Harry," said Smethwyck, firmly.

But Harry said, equally firmly, "I am of age. I have the right to refuse treatment - Isn't that right, Madam Pomfrey?"

Madam Pomfrey looked at Smethwyck, doubt on her face. Smethwyck said, coldly now, "I'm sure that Madam Pomfrey knows how to deal with recalcitrant patients," and he handed her the potion, and instructed John, "Hold him," himself taking a firm hold of Harry's shoulder.

Harry once more attempted to take control of the situation, knowing within himself that he had no strength for a fight. Apparently perfectly cool, although panic was surging within him, he spoke direct to the school nurse, "Madam Pomfrey, don't do it. He's not telling the truth."

But she knew of Smethwyck's reputation, and Harry was still a child to her. Firmly, she put the glass to his lips, and when he resisted, the experienced nurse closed his nose with her fingers.

In a real panic now, Harry fought like a fury, but John held him firmly from one side, and Smethwyck's fingers ground painfully into his shoulder on the other. Coughing and spluttering, some potion was finally forced down his throat, and he ceased to fight his attackers. More potion trickled down his throat, but he was doing something else now, using his unique brand of magic to carefully vanish the potion, a little at a time. The glass was empty, and Harry was allowed to fall back onto the pillows, exhausted and bruised from the manhandling.

"That will do him, we'll do the next dose in four hours time, when he's still half asleep." said Smethwyck.

Harry's eyes were closed, but he was not asleep, and heard Madam Pomfrey say in a distressed tone, "Was that really necessary? Surely to put up such a fight in his condition is very bad for him?"

"Do allow me to know best, Madam Pomfrey," said Smethwyck, coldly. "A little discipline now, and we'll have no trouble with him next time."

Harry was exhausted, and as he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, he allowed himself to go back to sleep.

He was more cunning the next time they came to him. He lay quietly as if half asleep, and obediently opened his mouth when instructed, but the amount of potion actually swallowed amounted to barely a taste. He lay afterward, apparently asleep, with plans forming in his brain. Luckily there didn't seem to be any other patients to upset.

John, the hospital assistant, was in view, in a chair close by, apparently guarding him. Harry waited his chance. If possible, he wanted to slip away quietly, but was forming plans to get away more dramatically if he had to. The complication was that he didn't want to hurt Madam Pomfrey, who had done so much for him, especially the previous year, when he'd been so sick for so long. And John was only following orders too. Harry was not so sure that he didn't want to hurt Smethwyck, for whom he had conceived a violent hatred. Still, rationally, he knew that it was probably unwise even to hurt him. He did spend several enjoyable minutes wondering what exotic punishment would be most appropriate for the man.

He was still very sick, weak. He was in no condition for a fight, but it looked like fight he had to. So he used his considerable will power to keep himself from falling deeply asleep for the next couple of hours, dozing sometimes, but waking at frequent intervals to check whether he was still guarded, whether he yet had a chance to escape. His will power failed toward dawn, and he sank into a deeper sleep, before being woken at six for yet another dose of potion. This time he was taken unawares and started to struggle, but Healer Smethwyck again ground his fingers painfully into the already bruised shoulder, reminding Harry that more subtle resistance was in order.

He was again pretending to sleep, while listening as hard as he could to the argument going on in Madam Pomfrey's office. If Madam Pomfrey would only come to his aid, he may not have to fight. He could still feel the dangerous fatigue of old, and the perilous temptation to sleep for as many hours as his exhausted body required. But when he heard the words 'transfer to St. Mungo's,' he knew he could not afford to wait too much longer.

It was full light when his opportunity finally came. John rose, stretched, glanced at him, and left, maybe just for a few minutes, but still, at least he was not actually under his eye. Madam Pomfrey seemed to be dozing in her chair, in the Nurses station, and Healer Smethwyck was not in sight.

He rose, swaying slightly, took his glasses from the bedside table, and checked underneath. As he had hoped, his clothing was there, neatly folded, his shoes on the lower shelf. As he had expected, his wand was not there. As quickly as he could, and as he had decided to do earlier, he laced his shoes, slipped on his robe, and started quickly and quietly toward the door.

He had not even cleared the foot of the bed when the expected shout came behind him. Worse, Healer Smethwyck turned into the room from the doorway, so his escape was blocked. Harry was going to have to fight. He drew himself up to his full height, his robes giving him the dignity he would have lacked in pyjamas, and waited.

John held back. John was a squib, and fights between wizards were things he was very much afraid of. Harry was not going to have any trouble from the hospital assistant. Both Healer Smethwyck, and Madam Pomfrey were different propositions however.

He used his magic to start a gentle rumbling in the background, designed to frighten. And, indeed, both of his keepers looked worried. But Madam Pomfrey had looked after him since he was a child of eleven. She was not frightened of Harry Potter. She approached, scolding, "Harry, don't be silly. Get back into bed at once."

Harry said flatly, "I'm leaving. You're not stopping me," and he escalated the thunder in the background, embroidering it with flashes of light, and also, not really even knowing what he was doing, he made himself seem much larger, more powerful, intimidating.

"Get back into your bed," said Madam Pomfrey again, firmly, but Harry glanced briefly toward the metal bed, and, with a loud crash, it exploded into a heap of shavings on the floor. Madam Pomfrey jumped back, and Harry walked toward the exit, toward Healer Smethwyck.

Healer Smethwyck stood in his road. "Harry, Harry, we're only trying to look after you" he said, in a kind voice.

But Harry, acutely aware of the cruelty behind the benign look, answered, "I don't believe you, I'm leaving."

Madam Pomfrey had by now overcome her momentary fright, and came toward him again. Harry was acutely aware of the paralysing weakness that seemed to start in his bones, and was suddenly afraid that she would simply push him back onto a bed and tuck him in. So now thunder roared, lightning played around the edges of the room, and suddenly the whole room trembled, and a wide crack appeared in the ceiling, racing directly overhead, straight toward Madam Pomfrey. Abandoning courage, she screamed and took cover in her office.

Smethwyck, furious, dropped all pretence, drew his wand, and said, in a hard, determined voice, "You are _not _leaving - I'm acting for the good of _everybody._ Sacrifices have to be made."

Harry's assumed ferocity had become real anger now. "I – do – not - _wish _- to be - a _sacrifice_!" he said, emphasising the words with loud crashes of exploding glassware.

Smethwyck raised his wand, but gaped, horrified, as the wand began to glow, and strips of wood curled off it. The wand had been peeled - like a banana - and Smethwyck was defeated.

Harry, still with that magical glow of power and largeness, pushed past Smethwyck and left. He strode down the corridor toward his Gryffindor tower, his face a mask of fury and determination. A group of second years were approaching, blocking the corridor, and Harry turned abruptly, taking a shortcut behind a tapestry, somehow knowing it was there.

An instant later, he was at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Even then, it was not smooth sailing, as the password had been changed while he'd been in hospital, and when the Fat Lady said, as she always did, "No entry without the password," he lost patience, and snapped "Open." The Fat Lady, helpless, swung open.

He felt terribly weary now, and was pleased to find the common room empty. He dragged himself to his special high backed chair in the corner, and collapsed into it to wait for Dumbledore.

***chapter end***


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 7:_

No-one followed him. No-one came in for hours. Harry rested in his chair, never entirely relaxing his guard. Once, he pulled himself shakily to his feet, and went up the stairs to the bathroom. After washing his hands, and running them over his face - his own chosen way of shaving, he went into the dormitory. He was extremely hungry, but found only a few sweets on Ron's bedside table. They were gone in an instant, but then there was nothing else but water. He returned downstairs to his chair, waiting.

Outside the Fat Lady portrait, security guards were stationed, not allowing anyone in. Healer Smethwyck, with a wizard ambulance crew, also waited, having tried, but failed, to persuade Professor McGonnagal to let him in to take Potter away. The students were told to go to afternoon classes, but Ron and Hermione, Ginny, all Harry's dorm-mates, and dozens of other Gryffindors, refused to leave.

Other teachers were present too, alert in case of further trouble from the young wizard that Smethwyck said was dangerous and disturbed. It was known that the hospital wing was wrecked, and many of the students checked for themselves, looking through the entry door that now sagged off its hinges.

When a chance finally permitted, Hermione slipped behind a guard, whispered the password to the Fat Lady, and entered before anyone could stop her. She saw Harry straightaway, in his accustomed chair, tense and on his guard. Without hesitation, she went to him, taking his hand. "What happened," she asked.

He was brief. "They were drugging me, kept me prisoner, wanted to take me away. I had to break out." And he asked the important question for him. "What's happening out there?"

"They're waiting for Dumbledore,"

"So am I," said Harry. "He'll fix things." Harry sometimes had a faith in Dumbledore that was perhaps, unrealistic. Even wise and knowledgeable old wizards cannot always fix everything.

Hermione said anxiously, "They have a wizard ambulance team out there, Harry," but she was sorry that she said it when the deep fear returned to Harry's eyes. Seeking to distract him, she said, "Anything I can get for you, Harry."

Harry immediately straightened, looking hopeful, "I'm incredibly hungry. Do you think you can get me something to eat?"

Hermione said, "Well, there's a risk I might not be allowed back in, but I'll try."

Harry was willing to lose Hermione's company for a bit, if only he could have some food, and at the thought his stomach suddenly gave a rather loud growl. Hermione laughed, and Harry grinned, the very human noise alleviating the drama of the situation. It relieved some of Hermione's anxiety, too. He had been looking thin and haggard again, reminding her painfully of his many months of illness the previous year. But if he was so hungry, he couldn't be too bad.

She went to the door, and was greeted by a flurry of questions, "Is he all right? Has he really gone mad? What's happening?"

She announced briefly, "He's not mad, he said he had to break out because they were drugging him," and then, as Smethwyck and his team started toward the door purposefully, she quickly asked Lavender Brown, who happened to be close, to get some food. Lavender turned instantly and left.

Professor McGonnagal indicated to the security guards who moved in closer, firmly preventing entry by either a student, or by Smethwyck's team. Her anxiety was shown clearly, as she said, "Tell Harry Professor Dumbledore is on his way. He's perfectly safe for now."

Hermione returned to Harry. "Lavender's bringing it," she said, "Dumbledore's on his way, and McGonnagal says that you're perfectly safe for now." Harry smiled at her, and thanked her.

It was only a short time later, and Ron came through the door, with a large plateful of sandwiches. "Professor McGonnagal said I could stay with you," he said, "As it appears you're not currently being a dangerous lunatic."

Harry was happy to see Ron, but his eyes were firmly on the food. He reached eagerly for a sandwich, but hesitated. "Who brought them?"

Ron was confused. "Well, one of the security guards handed them to me - I didn't see Lavender."

With an enormous and heartfelt sigh, Harry put the sandwich back. He was ravenous, but he had learned early in his life not to take unnecessary risks. "They're probably drugged," he said, turned his eyes from the food his body longed for, leaned back his head wearily and closed his eyes.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, their first thought that Harry was overdoing the suspicion. Ron, himself always hungry, was inclined to do a taste test, but Hermione stopped him. "He could be right."

Harry spoke again, still with closed eyes, "What day is it?"

"Tuesday," said Ron.

"Then I haven't eaten for four days," he said. "Vanish it for me, would you, somebody? It's too much of a temptation."

"You could vanish it yourself if you wanted to, couldn't you, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry opened his eyes, looked at her for a moment, then glanced at the sandwiches, which vanished. "Don't tell anybody." he said. "With a bit of luck, they might still think I can only do it accidentally, or if I'm fighting or something."

Ron suggested that he conjure himself some food, but he said he was no good at food, that it always tested like sawdust, and seemed to have a totally nil food value. Neither Ron nor Hermione could conjure food, either, and when Ron went to rummage through the dormitory to turn up something, there was nothing but his own empty sweet bag to reward him for his search. Hermione had no better luck in the girls' dorm.

Finally, the door opened, and Professors Dumbledore and McGonnagal entered, accompanied by a stranger wearing the garb of a mediwizard, and Madam Pomfrey, who looked extremely reluctant to be anywhere near Harry.

He rose shakily, swaying slightly, and was grateful when Dumbledore told him to sit. "Well, Harry, it seems like you put on quite a tantrum!" said Professor Dumbledore. "This is Healer Rutledge. He's a friend of mine, who specialises in diseases of the mind and brain."

Harry greeted Healer Rutledge, trying not to show his considerable distrust.

Rutledge said in a soothing voice, "How about we pull up a few chairs, then we can all relax."

So chairs were arranged, and Harry did feel a bit better. He felt altogether too sick to stand, but having everybody looking down on him made him uncomfortable, which Rutledge, with his extensive experience, had known. He'd seen his distrust too, just as Harry had seen through Rutledge, knowing perfectly well that Rutledge was trying to keep him calm, and probably thought he was potentially dangerous.

"So, tell me what happened," said Dumbledore.

Harry said concisely, wearily, "They were drugging me. They wouldn't let me go, so I had to break out," and he added defensively, "I didn't hurt anyone, not even Smethwyck."

Healer Rutledge was watching him closely. Ron and Hermione were sitting on a table, a little back, but listening closely. Professor McGonnagal was there too, and Harry felt rather surrounded.

"More detail, please, Harry," said Dumbledore, "Smethwyck has considerable power, and we need to know clearly what happened."

Harry was beginning to understand that things were not automatically all right just because Dumbledore was there, so he fought down his almost overwhelming fatigue, and tried again. "I started getting better yesterday, and it was all right until Smethwyck came, although..." and he paused. "Madam Pomfrey, what was that potion you gave me yesterday?"

Madam Pomfrey said, with a sideways glance at him that clearly betrayed her fear, "That was the potion that Healer Smethwyck brought with him. He actually arrived in the afternoon, but didn't want you told straightaway. He said it might disturb you." She continued, looking at Dumbledore and Rutledge, rather than Harry. "He said the potion was a special one, excellent for the condition, but it had to be taken when due, without fail. That's why we had to make sure that he took it."

Harry spoke to Professor Dumbledore, "I am seventeen, I am of age. Surely I have the right to refuse medical treatment."

But it was Rutledge who answered, "Normally, that's true, but if a witch or wizard is deemed to be mentally ill, their wishes can be overridden."

Harry leaned his head back again, and said, "Well, the next time they came, they overpowered me and forced the stuff down my throat."

Professor Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Is this true, Poppy?"

Madam Pomfrey said uncomfortably, "Healer Smethwyck insisted that he must take the potion. Harry did try and say that he was of age and refusing treatment, but I thought it was for his own good."

Harry, feeling it might help his case, said softly, "There are probably bruises."

Healer Rutledge said, "Show me."

Harry stood up, slipped off his robe, and tried to undo the buttons of his pyjama top. But his hands were shaking and he was swaying unsteadily, and was grateful when Ron came to his side, supporting him, helping him. Sure enough, there was severe bruising on his right shoulder where Smethwyck had so painfully punished him, and other marks on his arms and back, where he had been hurt as he struggled.

Madam Pomfrey, shocked and embarrassed, said, "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't think it was so bad." But Harry was remembering how her fingers had held his nose and the potion was poured ruthlessly down his throat so that he couldn't breathe, and said nothing. Ron helped him put his clothes back on, and Harry leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Professor Dumbledore said, "Perhaps, Poppy, you could continue. You know well what happened, as you witnessed it all."

Madam Pomfrey explained, "Well, that was the 10.00pm dose, and Healer Smethwyck said from now on the doses would be every four hours, rather than six hours."

Healer Rutledge leaned forward, "Why was that?"

"He didn't say, but I think it was so we'd have less trouble with Harry. The potion contained a component that would make him sleep, as well as certain very strong healing ingredients."

"Go on," said Rutledge, who had begun to take charge.

"Well, there was another dose at 2.00am, and it was like Smethwyck said, Harry had learned his lesson and took it like a lamb. He struggled a bit with the 6.00am dose, but then took that too."

Professor Dumbledore said, "How did he manage to get away then, if you were making him sleep?"

Harry, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, was still attentive, and said, "I wasn't taking the potion, I was vanishing it."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, sitting back in his chair, and turning to Rutledge, "I told you Harry was a remarkable wizard."

McGonnagal said, confused, "So you grabbed your wand?"

Harry said, "No, I just did it, bit by bit, so they wouldn't know."

Dumbledore, in the strictest confidence, had spoken to Rutledge about what he suspected about Harry's magic, and this appeared to confirm Dumbledore's suspicion. McGonnagal was silent, comprehending what Harry was saying, but not sure if she believed it.

Dumbledore asked Madam Pomfrey to continue, and she told them of the rumbling thunder, flashing lights, and exploding bed, "And Harry did something to himself. He looked really big and powerful - frightening."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with considerable respect, and said softly, "The Cloak of Power!"

The others, including Harry, all looked at him for an explanation.

"Certain powerful wizards can make themselves seem very large and intimidating. It's mostly used by Dark Wizards to frighten, but anyone can use it. It's called _The Cloak of Power."_

Rutledge leaned toward Harry, "Did you wish to be especially intimidating, Harry?"

Harry, sensing this might be a vital question, looked frankly at Rutledge, and said simply, "I had to get away. I didn't want to hurt anyone, so the only way I could think of was to frighten them into letting me go. But they were not very easy to frighten, especially Smethwyck, and I had to get more drastic than I thought I would."

"Why didn't you just go when they weren't looking?"

"They were watching me all the time. I did try to sneak away as soon as I got a chance, but that was not until this morning."

Rutledge raised his eyebrows, "But Harry, you took the time to put on your cloak and shoes. Surely that was a bit silly, if you were trying to escape quickly."

"I thought about it all night. It held me up a bit, but if I couldn't sneak out, I was going to have to frighten them, and you can't do that barefoot and in pyjamas. I had to take the time." He added, "It's all about Voldemort, you see? They want to put me away so that he can be kept sick."

Dumbledore asked, "What's Voldemort doing now, Harry?"

Harry, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "He's sick in bed. Pettigrew is there with a tray of food." He added, quite pointedly, and with emphasis, "_He_ gets to be fed!"

Ron chimed in, "Harry's starving, sir. He's had nothing to eat since he got sick."

Professor McGonnagal asked, "What happened to the tray of sandwiches that you were given?"

"Harry said they were probably drugged and wouldn't touch them."

Dumbledore said, "I'll arrange some more." At the door, he made a point of speaking clearly, so that Harry could hear his instructions. Dean and Neville were to collect some sandwiches from the kitchen, to stay together, and make very sure that the food was not touched, drugged, or any spells put on either the food or themselves. This time, when the food arrived, Harry fell on it like a starving wolf, and looked considerably better for it afterward.

Dumbledore and Rutledge were having a quiet discussion in the corner that the others couldn't hear. Ron and Hermione were close to Harry, keeping him company, and Professor McGonnagal was with Madam Pomfrey, seeking more details of his illness and treatment. The nurse was feeling rather guilty now, but still too afraid of Harry to approach him.

Professor Dumbledore came back, Hermione and Ron respectfully falling back, and sat down next to Harry, Healer Rutledge next to him. Harry looked at them, his face guarded.

Dumbledore first moved to reassure him. "John here has agreed that you acted rationally, are not a danger, and need not be locked away."

Harry's tension evaporated, but all his fatigue came rushing back in, and he sagged back in his chair, looking more pale and haggard than ever.

Ron and Hermione, who were watching from the other side of the room, entirely misinterpreted this sudden collapse, and the two elderly wizards suddenly found themselves facing two furiously fierce students, tall, red-haired Ron, and Hermione looking more angry than anyone had ever seen her. Ron even had out his wand. Hermione was storming, "What are you saying to him? Leave him alone! I'm not letting you take him away!"

Harry, shielded by his defenders, shook his head and tried to gather himself, but it was Dumbledore who said, "You misunderstand, Miss Granger. I have just told Harry that he may stay here."

They turned to Harry, who nodded, and his friends fell back, stammering apologies.

Dumbledore said to Madam Pomfrey, "Would you mind having a look at him now, before he goes up to bed? I'd like to be reassured that he's all right."

Harry spoke up, "I'm just tired - I'm fine otherwise."

Madam Pomfrey approached reluctantly, until Professor McGonnagal said impatiently, "For goodness sake, Poppy, just get on with it! He's not going to bite!"

Madam Pomfrey checked over Harry, who was leaning back in his chair again, looking very white and ill. She still jumped when he addressed her, "Madam Pomfrey, you must know I'd never hurt you."

She answered him, "It's all right, Harry, of course you wouldn't," but she could still feel the room trembling, and the crack in the ceiling that had raced toward her, and she could still see Harry, fearsome with that look of largeness and power - 'The Cloak of Power,' as Dumbledore had called it. It was going to take a long time to forget.

Ron helped Harry up to bed, and the Gryffindor students were allowed back into their common room. Smethwyck, furious, dismissed his ambulance team, and left.

Professor Dumbledore was still talking to his friend. He was chuckling, remembering how his head girl and head boy had rushed to protect their friend, even against him, Dumbledore. He said to Rutledge, "He inspires loyalty. The other students are sure that he's a hero. They'll protect him, too. I told you about the affair at the school train..."

On waking a couple of hours later, Harry was pleased and relieved to see his wand on his side-table. It appeared to him like a declaration of innocence, which, in a way, it was. But he was hungry again, and again had his mind bent on food. He managed to shower and dress himself for dinner, but he was over optimistic, and had to be grabbed by Dean when he stood up, went suddenly pale, and fainted. So, again, a tray was prepared for Harry, with a very good meal on it, as well as extra supplies should he be hungry in the night.

The following day, though, he attended breakfast, and had every intention of attending classes. The others were dubious, but Harry pointed out that it would be much more difficult to justify putting him in St. Mungo's if he was going to lessons. So, making full use of his short cuts, he attended every class, where he would sit at the back of the room with a study sheet as an alibi. He ignored the way he was pointed out, ignored the wild rumours he overheard, and looked sufficiently remote that few students, aside from his particular friends, approached him.

The last subject of the day was a double period of Potions. Harry turned up early, having used his shortcut, perfectly familiar to himself, totally mysterious to everyone else. Snape was early too, and was being unusually sociable. He said in his oily voice, "I knew you didn't like the hospital wing, Potter, but it does seem a touch extreme - wrecking it entirely,"

Harry suddenly remembered something, and laughed, looking at Snape with unusual merriment in his eyes, "I peeled his wand. I'd forgotten. You should have seen his face!"

"You did what?" said Snape.

"I peeled his wand - like a banana." Snape stared, incredulous, then suddenly broke into a peal of laughter, that brought Harry totally undone, and he was laughing uncontrollably, holding onto the wall to support himself, as Ron and Hermione turned down the corridor, followed by most of the class.

The sight of Professor Snape and Harry laughing together was wildly unusual, and the joke had to be explained to the others. Ron was inclined to be shocked, "But wizards _never _attack each other's wands," he said, but most people thought it an excellent joke. It was good therapy for Harry, whose fear of being shut away had been so great that he had not been able to see anything funny about his fight until now. Twice in the last few weeks, he had found himself fighting desperately for freedom, and it was to leave a permanent scar and a lasting distrust of the Ministry of Magic.

The following day was Thursday, but Harry had not the slightest intention of going to see Madam Pomfrey, whom he knew to be very frightened of him now. Indeed, he was not even sure if he wanted to go back to the gymnasium, which was, from his point of view, far too close to the hospital, which he hated now, more than ever.

But Professor McGonnagal was very firm, and said that she would not only escort him personally, she had every intention of supervising. Harry was feeling so reluctant this time that he was wondering if a little thunder and lightning would help him again. But one look at Professor McGonnagal's stern face, and he heaved a sigh of resignation, and set off with her.

The door to the hospital was new, he noticed as he walked through, but he paused in surprise as he saw a sinister crack angling through the ceiling. He had assumed that it would have been fixed - after all, he had once seen Dumbledore's office, with its array of delicate instruments, totally wrecked, yet perfectly normal the next time he found himself there.

"See," Professor McGonnagal said, pointing to the crack, "No-one else could fix it, so Dumbledore said that you had to."

Harry waved his wand in the direction of the crack, which instantly repaired itself. Madam Pomfrey also had an array of broken glassware waiting for him. Casting an anxious sidelong glance at her, he waved his wand again, and whole glasses and bottles sat in place of the collection of broken glass.

"There's also the matter of a bed," said Professor McGonnagal, indicating the empty place where his bed had stood. Harry glanced at the other beds, for the model, and conjured a perfectly respectable hospital bed the same as the others.

"Right, now that's done, are you going to be friends again?" asked Professor McGonnagal, looking severely at both Madam Pomfrey and to Harry.

They both looked thoroughly embarrassed. Harry was looking down, "I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said, though he knew, in the same situation, he would have done the same again. After all, he still hadn't been able to think of any better plan he could have used.

"I'm sorry, too, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey, "I should have stood up for you better. But he was a Healer, you see," sounding as if she still believed that a healer could do no wrong.

The checkup proceeded. Harry had suffered a severe setback, and still felt the shivering fatigue of weakness - not that he admitted to that. His bruising was quite spectacular now, three days after the event, but quickly soothed with Madam Pomfrey's lotion. He had also lost weight again.

"Smethwyck's potion not too good then?" said Harry, testing. It still sounded to him as if she thought he should have behaved himself, and been treated as Smethwyck thought best.

"Sometimes these things take a while to work," said Madam Pomfrey, and Harry knew that, like many an otherwise excellent nurse, she could not be trusted to use her own brain when a Healer was at hand.

She had a rather belated conversation with Harry then, about his recent illness. She told him what Professor Dumbledore and Healer Rutledge had concluded - that it looked very like he was sensitive to spells, and that he should ensure that he was never hit by a stunner again, or, indeed, by any charm or hex. She reminded him of that spot on his back, where the Death Curse had struck, and pointed out that there was still a reddened swelling there, minor maybe, but indicating an unresolved problem.

Harry listened carefully, but with that remote expression on his face that he increasingly wore these days. Professor McGonnagal was listening too. But they were unprepared when he declared firmly that the information was to remain strictly secret - that his recent illness was to be regarded merely as a relapse - that he had enough to worry about without telling people how easily he could be killed.

It took several more days before he was back to his previous level of fitness - not that that was very great, and a full three weeks before he managed to regain the weight he had lost. But he had a lot of experience in concealing his weakness, and few people aside from Hermione and Ron knew that it was again taking all his energy just to get to classes.

He seldom referred to his struggle to escape from Smethwyck - even to Hermione and Ron he provided few details. But he had conceived a great fear of being locked away, even more than the fear of being made ill again, and every few nights, he would find himself fidgeting and moaning in bed, with nightmares of confinement and helplessness. Once he woke everybody by suddenly flooding the dormitory with bright light as he leapt to his feet, holding his wand, looking for the enemy he knew was there.

Voldemort, he knew, was still not well, and was inactive. He had a more intimate understanding of him now, from his constant surveillance. But he seldom became aware of any more than Voldemort's surface thoughts, and could never gather more than a general sense of his intentions - a lot less useful than he had hoped. He had not spoken further to anyone, even Dumbledore, about his strange link with Voldemort, and no-one had yet asked.

But one day, quite out of the blue, Ron asked, "Harry, can you really see what Voldemort's doing?"

Harry looked at him in surprise, having almost forgotten that he had betrayed himself when Dumbledore had questioned him.

"Well...," he began hesitantly. He had never tried to explain what he was doing, and found the words hard to find. And somehow he felt that it was deeply personal, that he was invading where he shouldn't, even though it was an enemy, and a man who had done such evil in his life. And in the end, he was dismissive. "It's almost all trivial things, you know. He's waiting for dinner, or he's talking to Pettigrew, or he's playing with a cat."

"He's got a cat?" asked Hermione, trying and failing to readjust her thinking of Voldemort to a man who might like cats.

"Yeah," said Harry, "Two sweet, but perfectly ordinary kittens - he likes them."

"But what about his plans, what he's doing?"

"I hardly ever see. I can't really read his mind or anything, just surface thoughts occasionally - I mean, it's pretty mundane - once I had a look, and he was staring at a door right in front of him, and thinking he had an incredible gut ache!"

Ron and Hermione laughed, but they knew he had given them the bare minimum of information, making little of it. But they had also seen his reluctance, respected it, and neither asked again. They knew he was not confiding in Dumbledore either. Although Harry had been encouraged to go to Dumbledore whenever he wanted, he hardly ever did so.

He still interfered with Voldemort occasionally, especially when he knew that others were with him. Voldemort had lost a lot of his confidence, and Harry witnessed arguments between his supporters, and sometimes felt Voldemort's anger when his supposed friends challenged him. Once, so clearly that it startled him, he heard Pettigrew say, "It's Harry Potter." But that was all he heard.

Harry had begun to worry about himself. Try as he might, it was taking so long to become strong. He was using the gymnasium, although wise enough not to exercise to exhaustion, but progress was pitifully slow. He often felt a need to walk and walk, but his muscles would be trembling before the need was satisfied. He still had a weekly appointment with Madam Pomfrey, which Professor McGonnagal made sure he attended, and was again taking Snape's potion. He was also still prohibited from doing more than an hour's study a night, and now this limitation was beginning to bother him, as he was becoming more and more conscious that this year's examinations were going to be vital to his future.

But progress was being made. As the weeks passed, repeatedly exercised muscles were becoming stronger and more defined on his body, his shoulders were becoming more broad, and his legs longer. By November, he felt that, while he might be thin, he was as healthy as anyone else. He was wrong in this, but when a person has been very ill, sometimes half fit seems to them to be glowing health.

Finally he was allowed to stop taking the potion he was so tired of, and the weekly visits to Madam Pomfrey were reduced to fortnightly, then monthly. But it was when Hermione pointed out that his robes were too short, and he had to order new ones, that he really felt happier about himself.

_**x**_

Voldemort was still doing nothing to be concerned about, although there were a couple of incidents of note. Harry had made his routine check of his activities, and found him walking his estate as he often did. The landscape was becoming familiar to Harry now, and he thought that if he was ever there, he would recognise it instantly. He watched for a few minutes, then went back to the Potions book he was studying. But his attention was drawn back to Voldemort, as Voldemort felt a surge of fury. Harry looked, and saw what he saw, a couple using an outbuilding on his estate for a private spot of lovemaking. Harry didn't really see what was in that to make him so furious, but furious he undoubtedly was.

The couple were muggles, and terrified to find themselves suddenly confronted by an enraged wizard aiming a wand at them. They started up, semi-clothed, facing Voldemort in fright. Voldemort waved his wand at the man, who froze to the spot, then looked at the girl, who was trying frantically to readjust her clothing. His fury rising even further, Voldemort aimed his wand at the girl, and spat, "_Crucio!_"

Harry was taken by surprise. He had interfered with Voldemort before when he was using his wand, but now Voldemort was concentrating hard on a powerful spell, and he had to make three attempts before his fingers spasmed, and his wand fell. The muggle man was suddenly free, and almost mindless with terror and rage, he attacked Voldemort. Voldemort was quite unused to physical fighting, and was knocked to the ground. The girl, showing great courage, recovered herself swiftly, grabbed the wand and flung it away. Then she helped her man as he gave Voldemort a thorough beating.

Harry was reminded sharply of the beating he had suffered the previous summer, and waited for Voldemort to assert himself. He found it hard to understand how this great wizard could be helpless at the feet of two muggles. He was torn. In a part of him, he could see fists descending on what felt like his own face, he knew consciously that Voldemort had tortured the girl in front of her man, knew that Voldemort would almost certainly have killed them, and yet, he was so intimately linked with him that he found himself wanting to go to his defence. In the end, he simply removed his attention from him, finding that if he tried, he could block him from his awareness.

On checking up a while later, he saw that he was still lying where he had gone down, conscious, but hurting. It suddenly occurred to him that Voldemort had felt it when Harry was beaten, but that Harry did not feel any different just because Voldemort had been beaten. He hadn't really thought that the other man's injuries or illnesses might affect him, but it was good to know for sure that they wouldn't. A little later still, he knew that Voldemort was hobbling back to his mansion.

He couldn't understand why Voldemort had been so angry. Thinking about it, he realised that he had never seen Voldemort with a woman, or indeed, involved in any sexual act. At seventeen, he was still totally inexperienced himself, and really didn't know whether or not abstinence was unusual for a grown man who appeared to have a perfectly useful body.

He was abstracted the following day, pacing back and forth outside, when he should have been attending a Charms lesson. In the end, he went to Dumbledore's office. Professor Dumbledore was there, almost as if he'd been waiting for him. "Tea and scones, Harry?" he asked, when he didn't say immediately what was bothering him.

Harry smiled and accepted, while Dumbledore made gentle conversation with him about his schoolwork, about the gymnasium, (usually deserted, except for Harry) even about the weather.

Finally, Harry said casually, "Voldemort got beaten up yesterday - by a pair of muggles."

Dumbledore spilt his tea, something that quietly delighted Harry, who sometimes felt irritated by Dumbledore's normal serene composure.

"Tell me more," invited Dumbledore.

"Well, he found them on his land, and having sex. He got mad as hell, and attacked them. But then he dropped his wand, and they went for him. They gave him quite a beating!"

Dumbledore's first thought was for Harry, and he asked, "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, "I'm fine. His health doesn't affect me." He finally came to the reason for this rare visit - "But what I really wanted to know is, _why _did it make him so angry? Why is he never with a woman? Is there something wrong with him?"

Professor Dumbledore gave him his penetrating look, which Harry blandly ignored. He hadn't come here to give away any more secrets than he chose. Dumbledore had to admit ignorance. "As far as I know, Voldemort has never had a sexual relationship. Maybe he doesn't feel the need. Not everybody does, you know."

Harry said, "If that was all there was to it, he would not have felt such fury, surely."

"Maybe not. Maybe there _is_ something else," said Dumbledore. "I just don't know."

Then Dumbledore questioned Harry, something which he had avoided doing previously. "Why did he drop his wand, Harry? Was that you?"

Harry didn't really want to be questioned about his odd relationship with Voldemort, but thought he could admit this much, so he shrugged and said, "I can do it occasionally, but that's about all I can do with him."

Dumbledore saw that he was not to be questioned further, and did not object when Harry politely thanked him for tea and left. It was only after he was gone, that he suddenly reflected with amusement that, while Harry had maintained a perfect calm throughout, he, wise old Albus Dumbledore, had not. He laughed to himself. How many years was it since he'd been outdone like that? And by a boy of just seventeen?

***chapter end***


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 8:_

Harry always watched carefully when Voldemort was having meetings with his Death Eaters. He could seldom hear what they were saying, but usually knew who was there, and sometimes he wound up with a very good sense of what they were talking about. He would hide himself away from others at these times, as he had to concentrate for lengthy periods, and this would not go unnoticed. If there was news of note, and there seldom was these days, he would send a note to Dumbledore, or, more rarely, go to his office.

Other people were becoming aware of Harry's frequent abstraction, but most accepted it as just part of his strangeness. Ron and Hermione had a fair idea what he was doing at these times, and would intervene to shield him from interruptions or curiosity when they could. His air of reserve was enough, normally, to shield him from unwanted questions.

Two weeks after the incident that he had discussed with Dumbledore, something else occurred. Harry was in a Defence class with Professor Dalton, and although he sat at the back of the class as usual, he was particularly interested in the current subject of Dementors, and had not only been paying close attention, but had been fully involved and asking questions. When he looked into the distance, put down his pen, and headed toward the door, it could not go unnoticed. Professor Dalton said to him, more surprised than annoyed, "Mr. Potter!"

Harry looked vaguely back, said, "Excuse me," and continued out the door.

Professor Dalton was looking after Harry, obviously wondering whether to go after him, maybe put him on Detention or something. But Seamus asked an involved question, and then Dean, and then some of the girls, and he soon forgot about Harry's abrupt departure, and continued with the lesson.

Hermione and Ron quietly picked up his things at the end of class, but didn't see him again until the end of classes for that day. They knew where to look for him at that time - he was always in the gym. They found him, stripped to the waist, sweating, using the rowing machine. He was beginning to show rather a nice set of muscles, and now that he was no longer so thin, Hermione suddenly became aware that he was turning into a thoroughly attractive man.

Ron, of course, noticed no such thing. He was more interested in what had caused Harry's abrupt departure from class. Even then, he didn't ask, but merely said, "We put your bag back in the common room for you."

Harry said, "Thanks, and look, I can't tell you now, but something did happen, and I promise I will tell you, probably after dinner." This delighted the pair, as he so seldom confided in them these days. In fact, considering the way he so often excluded them, it was surprising that he still held their unswerving loyalty.

They waited for him as he showered and dressed, tossing the sweat soaked shirt and shorts into a bag, and headed back to the main part of the castle. But then he said, "You'll have to excuse me, I have something to do." They sighed, but didn't object.

Harry headed into a part of the castle he seldom had cause to go - the part that housed the Slytherin rooms. He found the entry, but, of course, couldn't go in. But that was no problem, there were Slytherins all around, and he had no trouble finding one to take in a message that he wanted to see Draco Malfoy. Even the Slytherins were not immune from hero-worship, and Harry found himself stared at, but he had long become used to that, and merely put on his remote expression, and leaned against the wall as he waited.

Draco Malfoy soon emerged, "What is it?"

Harry said, "I want a private word with you."

"It's nearly dinner time," Malfoy objected, and Harry said, "We'll pick up something from the kitchen if you like."

But Malfoy had become worried, and said "No, don't worry. I've got some food in my room if I need it," and he followed as Harry led the way outside, to a private spot next to the lake. It was rather cold, and Malfoy was not an outside person, but he made no objection, by now feeling a sense of alarm.

The grass was wet, and Harry casually conjured a garden seat, to Malfoy's envy. He was still having great difficulty with conjuring, which was difficult magic.

"Well, what?" Malfoy demanded.

"I'm sorry, Draco, but your father's dead," said Harry simply.

Malfoy turned and stared unseeingly at the lake. At length, he asked, "Did the aurors get him?" and Harry answered, "No, he tried to kill Voldemort, and Voldemort killed him."

Malfoy suddenly objected, "How do you know? You can't know that!"

But Harry replied, "I know," and in the face of that calm certainty, Malfoy was silent. For a time they sat quiet, and then Harry rose, said again, "I'm sorry," and left.

There was another thing he had to do. This was important news, and Dumbledore had to be told. But he felt he'd had enough of difficult jobs this day, and merely sent a short note to Dumbledore, stating that Lucius Malfoy and both the Lestranges were dead, by the hand of Voldemort.

He told Ron and Hermione that evening, just what had occurred. That the Lestranges had been arguing, that Voldemort had stepped in, and wound up killing them both. That Lucius Malfoy had objected, that Voldemort had aimed his wand at Malfoy instead, that Malfoy had responded by attempting to kill Voldemort, but had instead been killed.

Ron and Hermione were fascinated. They knew that Harry had an awareness of Voldemort, but that he could have seen exactly what occurred within the ranks of his supporters seemed incredible.

Then he told them about the episode of the muggle couple. Ron, especially was loudly amused at the thought of Voldemort helpless at the feet of two enraged muggles, which irritated Harry. He was thinking that he really should keep these things to himself, when he realised, with a pang of self-knowledge, that he was identifying too much with Voldemort, that he had been sorry for him, even felt humiliated for him, when the powerful wizard had been bested by a perfectly ordinary pair of muggles.

But this was what Harry wanted to discuss. Although he was pretty sure that both Ron and Hermione were as little experienced as he was with sex, he wanted their views on Voldemort's celibacy, which, the more he thought about it, seemed unusual. More significant still was his out of control reactions with the Lestranges, and with the muggle couple. "So what about it?" he asked. "Do you think that there's something wrong with him?"

Hermione was answering thoughtfully. "He's quite old in years, but he's got a fairly young body, hasn't he? One would have thought he'd have a woman."

Harry said, "According to Dumbledore, he's never been known to have had a relationship - not with anyone, man or woman."

Ron put forward his view - "All right, so if we just find him a girlfriend, he'll stop trying to rule the world?"

Hermione suddenly looked rather conscious. She had remembered that tender caress that Voldemort had given Harry, when he'd had them prisoner the previous year. And she thought that maybe a boyfriend was what was required. Harry had been unconscious at the time, and she doubted if anyone would have mentioned that moment to him.

Ron glanced over at her, and she thought that maybe he, too, had remembered that caress. They were all just seventeen, and knew little about sex or adult relationships, and they talked around and around the topic. Harry did think it possible that Voldemort had substituted the desire for power for the desire for sex, possibly through some unfortunate experience, or physical problem. 'Know your enemy' is an old piece of advice, but whether this piece of insight would be useful he didn't know.

_**x**_

It was nearly December, and Harry was becoming more and more worried about schoolwork. He wanted to be an auror, and to be an auror required excellent results at NEWTs level. He knew how much time he had missed. Some of his teachers were still preparing special worksheets for him, that he used to repair the deficiencies of the previous year, but even this year, he had not been undertaking a full workload, his homework had been limited, and classes had been missed. And the more he worked, the more he discovered that there were whole areas of knowledge that he had entirely missed, and needed to be made up.

He began to work feverishly, unwise enough to believe that he was fully recovered and could handle the workload, but even now, more than a year after the Death Curse had hit, Harry was not fully fit.

One evening, working late into the night, he found that he could no longer see. His eyes refused to focus. He took off his glasses, looked at them, put them on again, and looked blankly at the blurry walls, and the even blurrier book in front of him. Quietly, saying nothing, he packed up, and went to bed. Maybe it would be all right in the morning.

In the morning, it was, if anything, rather worse. He managed to get through his classes, only because the teachers were accustomed by now to treating him with a great deal of leniency. But after classes, instead of his customary trip to the gym, he went to see Madam Pomfrey.

Madam Pomfrey was surprised to see him. He had had an appointment not a fortnight before, and this was the first time ever that he had sought her out. He had some trouble forcing himself to admit what was wrong, not being in the habit of complaining. But Madam Pomfrey knew her work, and it was not long before she discovered just how much study he had been putting in. She'd been a school nurse for a long time, and knew how over anxious students could get when facing big exams. So Harry was very much relieved to be told that he had merely been overdoing the study, and was sternly reminded that his health was more important than exams. She also pointed out to him that, in spite of what he thought, he was _not_ fully fit, and must not overtire himself in any way.

Harry was greatly relieved, and went off to the gym, where he worked himself to exhaustion. But no harm was done, and, within a few days, his vision returned to normal. A lesson had been learned, and from then on, he carefully assessed the work, and did only what he thought was useful to himself. As usual, and under instructions from Dumbledore, his teachers accepted his judgement, marked his homework if he did it, ignored it when he didn't.

_**x**_

It was Christmas. Harry was not studying, and had also given himself some time off from Voldemort. In fact, he had quite deliberately not given a thought to him for several days. He was having a holiday. Ron and Hermione were both staying at Hogwarts over Christmas, it seemed they wanted to be with Harry while they were still able. It was if they sensed that the showdown was coming - after which everything would be different.

Harry hadn't rejoined the Quidditch team this year, Gryffindor had an excellent team without him, and he hadn't really become fit enough anyway until the last couple of months. But now he, Ron and Ginny took their broomsticks out every day and soared over the surrounding countryside, or as much of the countryside as they were allowed. Hermione seldom joined them on these excursions - she had never really liked flying, and was only competent. The others were all excellent fliers, and could roll and duck and weave, and fly at furious speeds in tight formation. Harry was seldom as happy as when he was on a broomstick.

Ron and Hermione felt as if they had their old friend back, the one of younger days - more outgoing, and essentially light hearted. Harry's reticence had become a part of him these days, such a part of him that people seldom asked him questions - especially not about his magic, although speculation about his powers was a frequent topic of conversation when he was not around.

On Boxing Day, Ron and Ginny, Hermione and Harry were sitting round the fire in the common room. No-one else was there. It occurred to Harry that he might as well check on Voldemort, and did so. It was not the situation he found that disturbed him, Voldemort was sitting at a fire, too, much as they were. But Harry, as he sometimes did, felt his emotion. For Voldemort was lonely - bitterly, sadly lonely. And a corresponding loneliness arose in Harry - for Harry's powers, his illnesses, the odd link he had with Voldemort, all contrived to set him apart from his friends, and he, too, was lonely.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione, seeing his face.

Harry answered "He's lonely - terribly, terribly lonely." And Harry's eyes were filled with tears and he abruptly rose and left them.

_**x**_

January came, and was uneventful. But Harry was uneasy. Something was happening in Voldemort's world, and he couldn't work it out. He started having a lot more difficulty overlooking Voldemort, sometimes he couldn't do it at all, and began to suspect that he'd finally become aware that he was not always alone in his head. Once he was a witness of heated discussion, which he fought to hear and understand, but then all went blank for him. Twice he thought he heard his own name, and he strongly felt that detailed planning was going on, but still he could hear and see nothing of use.

He wished he knew more, and went to Dumbledore to ask if he knew anything. But Dumbledore couldn't help. His curiosity was answered about one thing, though. Dumbledore told him that he'd made some enquiries. Voldemort, who was known as Tom Riddle as a child, had been raised in an orphanage, which was later closed when too many cases of abuse, physical and sexual, had come to light. So there was a definite likelihood that Voldemort was scarred sexually. Dumbledore agreed with Harry that this could be a reason why he had a need to make people fear him.

Harry told Dumbledore, "He's very lonely, you know," not realising that he had betrayed his own loneliness to the perceptive old man.

It was the 31st January, and Harry was walking outside the grounds. It was after dark, but not especially late. Being out of bounds was strictly forbidden, but Harry sometimes found even the large Hogwarts grounds to be too confining, and he felt perfectly safe from his enemies when no-one knew where he was. He had learned to evade the security guards, and slip over the wall from a large tree where it bordered the dark woods. There was a secret passage that he occasionally used, too - his magic was sufficiently good these days to clear the old blockage where it had collapsed.

He still could not work out what Voldemort was up to, but he knew that there was something in the wind, and he suspected that it was to do with himself. For a long time he had known that one day he would face Voldemort, and, according to the prophecy, kill or be killed, but he had somehow thought that it would be when he was a fully qualified auror, who would naturally know what to do. In a fair fight, he thought he could maybe beat Voldemort now, but he also thought that Voldemort would ensure enough advantage on his side, when the time came, that there was a strong likelihood that Harry would be the one to die.

He was standing, thinking, staring out at the dark mountains that rose around him. Abruptly he wheeled and strode back toward the castle, automatically climbing the strong creeper that took him back over the wall, and heading to Dumbledore's office.

This time, Dumbledore did not seem to be expecting him, and was even rather surprised to find him there. This time, Harry was not pleased to see that he was taken off guard - he needed Dumbledore to be calm, confident, and hopefully, invincible. Harry was forgetting his own pose of calm remoteness. Dumbledore invited him to sit, which he did, but he was drumming his fingers and his face was showing a taut alertness. Dumbledore noted these signs, and assumed more of the calm serenity that always soothed the upsets of those around, and Harry appeared to relax a little.

"Well, what is it, Harry?" asked Dumbledore directly.

Harry said slowly, looking at Dumbledore's phoenix instead of at Dumbledore, "Sometimes, you've been called away just when there was something planned. Maybe someone has enough influence to get you away from here when they choose. And no-one else can do what you do. I think you might be needed here, maybe very soon." And, with a swift glance at Dumbledore, he assumed a reasonable tone, "Sometimes, I know, it can't be avoided." Harry's last words were low, hurried, and almost ashamed, "I don't want you to go away right now."

Dumbledore said, "Harry," and his voice was suddenly a trifle husky. He wanted to hug this proud and lonely boy, but knew that it would have caused an immediate withdrawal. It was necessary for Harry to maintain his persona of control, especially as it looked, from what Harry was saying, that he would shortly be called upon to fight with all his courage, Dumbledore could only support him the best way he knew how. "Very well, Harry, I'll try not to go away."

"Thank you," said Harry, again rather low.

"What have you been seeing, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"Not much," said Harry, "It's become a lot harder since Christmas. He may have become aware that he is being overlooked."

Professor Dumbledore, once Harry had gone, wrote to decline an invitation to a conference on certain esoteric branches of magic that he had been planning to accept with pleasure.

***chapter end***


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 9:_

It was Saturday, two days later, and Harry was showing no further sign that he had anything particularly to fear. He was walking toward the main gate with his friends who were all going off to Hogsmeade. Hagrid called to him, and he turned, saying goodbye to Ginny, who was now dating a Hufflepuff boy, and Hermione and Ron, who were with Parvati Patil and Seamus, also dating.

Hagrid said, "Come with me, Harry. I have something to show you." Harry was pleased at the diversion, and willingly went off with his giant friend.

"Over there, near the large beech," said Hagrid, and Harry peered in the indicated direction. Moving quickly, Hagrid struck him hard on the back of the head with a stone, knocking him out. And then the Death Eater that looked like Hagrid was joined by several more, emerging from the wood. Harry was tied firmly to a tree, in a standing position, he was blindfolded, and his wand was taken from him.

Voldemort appeared, close, studying him, and again there was a caress as he stroked over the scar on his forehead. But then he said in a half-mocking, half tender voice, "Ah, Harry, Harry, my friend, the time has finally come - it is time for you to die."

At the sound of the voice, Harry roused, knowing with all the fibre of his being that the fight was now. His blindfold dropped off, his bonds vanished, and Voldemort, alarmed, dropped his plans of taunting his enemy before the kill, and swiftly hurled a Death Curse straight toward his heart.

Harry flung out his right hand, and the spell was deflected straight back into the heart of Voldemort. Voldemort was dead.

Voldemort was dead, but Harry was still surrounded by six Death Eaters, plus the one that looked like Hagrid. For a moment, Voldemort's followers were numb, unable to react. So sudden, and the feared Dark Lord was gone. But then Death Curses came flying at Harry from all directions. All of Harry's quick reflexes were needed now, as he dived under some spells and deflected others with the same hand that had killed Voldemort. In the confusion, at least one Death Eater was hit by a spell from another on the opposite side of the circle.

Harry was fighting for his life, but it would have been too difficult to survive against these odds, when unexpectedly, help arrived. There was one student who seemed often to be within sight whenever Harry was in the grounds, Euan Abercrombie, the only student who knew how to perform the Death Curse. Euan killed two of the Death Eaters before they even noticed his presence.

Still without his wand, Harry extended a pointing hand and stunned another wizard, but had to quickly dive and roll as he dodged again. By now, the noises of deflected spells and the furious shouts of the Death Eaters had drawn an audience of students, who witnessed another Death Eater fall, unconscious, although this time without sign of the red streak of light that was the stun spell.

Euan accounted for the next to last, luckily for him, this time with a stunner rather than a Death Curse.

Last standing was the apparent Hagrid, who stepped back, abruptly turned, and strode toward the nearby forest, close to the edge of the Hogwarts ground.

Harry raised a hand, his own wand flew to it, and he started after the Death Eater, but rather uncertainly. And then he stopped, not quite able to bring himself to hurt someone who looked so much like his friend. The remaining member of Voldemort's close followers, the one who had taken the Polyjuice potion to look like Hagrid, escaped.

It was a battle scene. Voldemort dead, three other Death Eaters also dead, three lying inert, stunned. Harry stood amongst the bodies, leaning slightly to one side, his wand still in his hand, his hair matted with blood where he'd been hit.

He was looking and feeling a little dazed, but as his gaze passed over the bodies around him, he began to grin, exultant. The final battle with Voldemort had been fought and won, and the cloud that had hung over him for so long, was lifted. He remembered the words of the prophecy that had been made so long ago, that one should die by the other one's hand, and he looked wonderingly at the palm of his own right hand, where a faint white mark had appeared. This was the hand that had returned Voldemort's Death Curse, and had killed him. Voldemort was dead. Harry Potter had won.

Euan Abercrombie was by his side, as happy as he. Quickly and competently, Euan had twice used an 'Unforgivable Curse,' and Euan was liable for punishment if it should become known. Harry spoke quietly in Euan's ear, "Don't say you killed any. You _stunned_ them. Say the dead ones must have hit each other, or been hit by deflected spells."

Euan blinked at him, suddenly understanding the need to be discreet. "OK, Harry."

Harry suddenly hugged him. "We did _OK!_"

Professor Snape strode up to the scene, followed closely by Professor Dalton. Between them, they swiftly had the three surviving Death Eaters disarmed and tied up. Snape tried to take Harry off to the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to check, especially as it was soon noticed that Harry was staggering - a list toward the left that hinted at brain damage. But Harry was hilariously happy, surrounded by exulting friends and class mates, and in no mood to be ordered off to see Madam Pomfrey.

So, like teenagers everywhere, he left the mess to be taken care of by someone else, and went off to Hogsmeade to celebrate, a crowd around him. Harry Potter had been their hero for years, but for most, he had been a distant hero. But now he was welcoming them all, happy to shake their hands, happy to be clapped on the shoulder. Euan was sharing the glory. Staying close to Harry, whom he idolised, he found himself a hero too. He had felt like a pariah ever since he had hurt Harry. But now he was in the midst of an accepting crowd, and could even finally forgive himself.

It was still only mid-morning, but drinks were pressed into their hands, and not always the innocuous butter beer that they were accustomed to. Hermione was beginning to be disapproving as Harry and Ron drank without restraint. Ron stayed close beside Harry, steadying him. He was apt to reel off to the side every now and then, even falling a couple of times. But Harry was totally unconcerned, and oblivious to anyone else's concern.

It was not until two hours later that Professor Dalton managed to extract Harry and Euan from the pub, to take them to Professor Dumbledore's office, where the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was waiting to interview them.

Ron stayed with Harry, needed more than ever, as he was now affected by alcohol as well as by his other mysterious ailment. They made rather slow progress, as Dalton, too, appeared to have had a little too much to drink, and was not at all firm when Harry and Euan kept stopping to talk to people.

Harry even stopped once just to stare into the sky as if he'd never seen it before. He was ecstatically happy, and Euan, if possible, was even happier.

They provided their not too coherent account of what had happened, and were not detained long. Euan was then sent off to rejoin his class mates, who had suddenly discovered what a hero he was.

Professor Dumbledore, with an experienced assessment of Harry's state of mind, waited till he was nicely distracted by Professor McGonnagal, had a very quiet word with Ron, and accompanied them outside, strolling with them toward the hospital wing. Hermione joined them, and quickly noticed exactly what they were doing.

Harry, totally inattentive, walked and stumbled and laughed, not even noticing where they were headed. They were nearly there before he noticed where they were. He stopped abruptly, glanced at Dumbledore with total comprehension, then sighed and allowed himself to be steered in to see Madam Pomfrey.

Madam Pomfrey saw him coming, and Harry found he was again being hugged, this time by the thrilled woman. Hugged or not, he was still not at all cooperative. Madam Pomfrey washed and put a sticky lotion over the cut on his head, feeling the bump, carefully trying to find the damage that might be causing the brain injury that was causing him to constantly veer to the left. She suggested that he stay the night for observation, a suggestion that he laughed at as if it was entirely ludicrous.

Then he turned to Ron, and announced that they were going back to the Three Broomsticks.

Dumbledore felt as if, with the death of Voldemort, the worries of years had fallen away. He was thrilled, and as proud of Harry as if the boy had been his own son. Dumbledore knew, better than anyone how much Harry had had to fight to survive, and the toll it had taken on him. He would not insist that this day of all days, be spoiled by a stay in hospital.

The party continued, becoming ever wilder and more exuberant as the day progressed. Dinner was a feast. Harry was gloriously, uproariously happy, unusually extrovert. Dumbledore had a quiet word with Harry's room-mates, as well as with the more sensible girls. They were instructed to inform a teacher immediately if he showed any signs of more problems, but, aside from this, no-one interfered with him.

The news that Voldemort was finally dead, with an actual body to bury, was broadcast up and down the country, and in other countries too. Voldemort, at the height of his powers, had not confined his activities to Britain. So witches and wizards celebrated everywhere.

At Hogwarts, not only the Gryffindor house, but all the houses had their decorations up, and students partied. In the staff room, the teachers were doing exactly the same thing, and in Hogsmeade, the whole town was a party.

No party was more exuberant than the one in Gryffindor. The common room was decorated with wonderful magical decorations, good things to eat were provided, and Dean and Seamus brought in a supply of alcoholic drinks, something that none of the students were at all accustomed to. Harry was the centre of attention, and became thoroughly and most uncharacteristically, drunk.

It was very late, well past midnight, and the confrontation with Voldemort had occurred in the morning. Harry had been partying ever since, with only brief interruptions. Many of the Gryffindors were still up, even though it was very late.

Harry was quieter now, perhaps finally getting tired, sitting in his chair, giggling quietly and rather foolishly to himself.

Hermione, thinking that Harry had been a little stern and sober for years now, asked him, "Does the world look better to you now, Harry?"

Harry stared owlishly at her, then around at Gryffindor Tower. "The world looks good," he said, and then, raising his hands a little theatrically - "So... Let the world be pink!" And the common room, the furnishings, and even the decorations and most of the contents of the room turned a violent, livid pink.

Ron, who had also had too much to drink, was vastly amused, but told Harry, "Come on, I think you'd better go to bed."

He started to help Harry up the stairs, but Harry paused and said, "This staircase would look good blue."

Ron, laughing, grabbed his arm, and said, "No," very firmly, and with Dean's help, tried to get Harry organised for bed. This was no easy matter, as he was quite unable to stand straight, or to walk in anything like a straight line, so some shortcuts were made.

He finally wound up in bed, still half dressed, but totally happy. Ron paused, looking at him affectionately. Harry, in bed, looked up at Ron, and said wonderingly, "He's dead, Ron. He's really dead."

Ron said gently, "I know, Harry. Go to sleep."

Harry went to sleep. Two hours later, toward dawn, Madam Pomfrey softly came into the room, in order to satisfy herself that Harry was still all right, and had not become sick from the brain injury she was sure he had somehow suffered. She leaned over him to see him sleeping sweetly, a contented smile on his face.

She was nearly back at the door, when the dormitory suddenly flooded with light, and she turned to see him on his feet, wand in hand and raised, tension written all over his body. Harry looked as if he fully expected to have to do battle again, and was ready for it.

Madam Pomfrey had not managed yet to overcome her fear of him, and she stepped back, her heart in her mouth.

He quickly lowered his wand, "Sorry. I just thought that someone was here who shouldn't be."

"Only me. I just wanted to make sure that you're all right."

"I'm fine," said Harry, upset to see the fear of Madam Pomfrey, who had looked after him so well, so often, even if, just once, she had failed him. He sat back on the bed for a moment, as Madam Pomfrey left. As he stood again, he nearly fell. Trying again, concentrating on walking straight, he made his way to the bathroom, this time remembering to clean teeth and put on pyjamas before returning to bed.

He woke very late the next day, but feeling very well and very contented. He stood, with that same immediate stagger to the left he had shown ever since the battle with Voldemort.

Neville glanced in, saw that Harry was awake, and said, "Good. I was waiting for you to get up."

Harry showered and dressed, and started to head downstairs, stopping, appalled, when he saw the amazing sight of the luridly coloured stone walls, and all the furnishings in that same hideous, violent pink. "What on earth happened?" he asked Neville, who had put a hand to an apparently aching head at the sight of all that colour.

"It was you, Harry. Don't you remember? You said, 'Let the world be pink,' and the room turned pink."

Harry drew his wand, asking, "Why didn't someone change it back?"

"Several people tried, even a couple of the teachers, but no-one could undo the spell. So they decided just to wait until you woke."

Harry casually touched the wall with his wand, and the common room returned to normal. He consulted his watch, and observed, "It's a bit late for breakfast, even for a Sunday. But I'm starving. Let's see if the house-elves can get us something. Where's Ron?"

"Outside, I should imagine. We've been taking turns keeping an eye on you until you woke up. Madam Pomfrey didn't want you to be left alone."

"That's not necessary," said Harry, slightly annoyed, "I'm fine."

Neville answered frankly, "Well, you're not walking right, are you? Something's wrong."

Harry shrugged, and repeated merely that he was starving.

In the kitchens, the house-elves were overwhelmed to find themselves visited by the hero of the hour, and Harry was supplied with far more breakfast than he could possibly eat. The party mood was beginning to return to Harry, who was refusing to take anything seriously. He solved his balance problem by walking next to the wall, where he could fend himself off now and then, and by concentrating hard when no support was at hand.

But he was still treating it as a joke, and had no intention of seeking out Madam Pomfrey.

A stack of toast in hand, he found his friends outside, as Neville had assumed. Students were everywhere, laughing, talking, flying on broomsticks, happy to continue with the party atmosphere. This was a Sunday, but Dumbledore had declared the following day, Monday, to be a holiday also, so that even those who had never thought much about the problems caused by Voldemort, were happy.

Harry was having trouble walking with no helpful walls to support him, so he tried riding a broomstick instead. This solved some of his problems, but even the broomstick appeared to be affected by the same mysterious phenomenon that was gripping him, and constantly veered to the left, instead of going in its usual effortless straight line.

Still blithely unconcerned, Harry was scarcely able to keep his exuberant good spirits in check, and his Firebolt suddenly soared into the air, doing crazy loop-the-loops, and finally diving full pelt to the ground, pulling up at the last minute, luckily not colliding with anything as the direction of his dive was a quite distinct curve to the left.

Professor Dumbledore was waiting for him. "Hello, Harry. I hear you had quite a party last night. How do you feel?"

"Fine, thanks," said Harry, a contagious grin on his face.

"And the common room turned _pink?_" gently questioned Dumbledore.

"Well," said Harry guiltily, "I did fix it."

Dumbledore had gone in to visit the Gryffindor common room that morning. There had, in fact, been a constant stream of visitors - many of the Gryffindors had friends from other houses, who just had to be shown. The fact that Harry Potter was still sleeping upstairs added to the treat - it was even suggested by some that they charge admission. The password was changed that afternoon.

Harry was standing now, his broomstick held in his hand, helping him keep his balance.

"Now, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, "Straight after lunch, I'm taking you to see Madam Pomfrey, and perhaps even send for a Mediwizard. You _are_ having significant problems with your balance, are you not?"

"Yes, sir. But I'll get used to it - it's not really serious, you know."

"Well, after lunch, you can explain to both Madam Pomfrey and myself why this problem is nothing to concern ourselves with."

So Harry, again surrounded by friends and admirers, headed back to the castle for lunch. Ron, after a moment, moved up to his left hand side, steadying him with a helping hand, and enabling him to keep to a reasonably straight line.

To Ron and to Hermione, as well as to Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, this continued inability to hold a straight line, appeared as a sinister sign. No-one could really understand why Harry himself was dismissing it with such blithe unconcern.

Straight after lunch, he was firmly escorted to Madam Pomfrey, who began by giving him the routine quick checkover he was accustomed to. Harry, on all counts, appeared reasonably healthy, having become both taller and heavier in the last few months. He was still too thin, and Madam Pomfrey knew that even now, he was not fully fit.

"Well, Harry, why do you think this problem with your balance is not something to be taken seriously", said Dumbledore, finally.

"It's hard to explain," said Harry, somewhat nervous and thoroughly self-conscious.

"Try," gently ordered Dumbledore.

He tried. "You know, there's been, like, a connection between me and Voldemort. I was always conscious that he was there, somehow, even though I don't think that he was conscious of me in that way. I could make him drop things, and could see, almost whenever I wanted, what he was doing." He was looking away from his audience, embarrassed and self-conscious, struggling to explain. "So, now he's dead. He's gone. It's not a part of me that's gone really, but there's just a part of me that has to adjust. I don't think this balance thing is going to go away, but I know that I can get used to it. It's not serious, and it's not going to get worse."

Madam Pomfrey was listening, but discounted most of what Harry was saying. She spoke to Dumbledore. "I think there's some brain damage, either from when he was struck on the head, or somehow when he sent back the curse to Voldemort. He must see a qualified Mediwizard - one who specialises in problems with the mind or brain."

But Harry spoke up then, to both of them, a very blunt "No!"

Dumbledore said, gently and persuasively, "You don't have to go to St. Mungo's, Harry, just see someone here."

Harry was very much in the habit of doing whatever Dumbledore said, and yet the altercation with Healer Smethwyck, and particularly the forced administration of sleeping potions had left him with a deep distrust of healers as well as of the Ministry of Magic. "Not Smethwyck," he blurted, for that moment sounding more like a frightened boy than a great wizard.

"Of course, not Smethwyck," Dumbledore said soothingly. "I rather think he would be very reluctant to face you again in any case. No, I was thinking of John Rutledge. Remember my friend, whom I brought to you after the incident with Smethwyck?"

"Oh, yes," said Harry. "OK, I don't mind him."

"Well," said Professor Dumbledore, "I don't think there's any great urgency, I'll contact him, and see when he can drop in."

Harry relaxed. There was no need to worry about it yet, and he was still very much disinclined to worry about anything much for some time to come.

Ron and Hermione were not so casual. They were still thoroughly concerned about Harry's problem with his balance, and Ron was already getting into the way of walking on his lefthand side, ready to steer, or prop up as required.

But Harry laughed and played, and was repeatedly congratulated by all and sundry. For a change, he didn't mind being conspicuous, but he was beginning to feel self-conscious about his erratic walk, and began to concentrate harder on adjusting to the new handicap, and, in fact, concealing that there was a handicap.

It was Wednesday, and the students were back at lessons, although a rather hilarious atmosphere still prevailed, especially around Harry, whose good spirits were infectious. He was beginning to be able to walk a lot better now, although steering close to the wall, or helped by somebody, usually Ron, walking beside him. He had adopted a cane, to save himself from the indignity of actual falls, though he fully intended to dispense with that as soon as possible.

He was sitting at the back of a Transfiguration class, with Hermione and Ron, when Professor Dumbledore entered, apologised to Professor McGonnagal for the interruption, and requested Harry to come with him.

Harry recognised Healer Rutledge standing behind Dumbledore, and rose with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. Making a special effort to walk a straight line, he nevertheless had to use his cane as he turned into the corridor. Dumbledore was making casual conversation with his friend Rutledge, but Harry was very much aware of the concentrated assessment Rutledge was making of his walking. He felt thoroughly self-conscious, and tried harder than ever not to make mistakes.

In the hospital wing, Healer Rutledge, with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore looking on, gave him a very thorough checkup, comparing the figures for weight and height to those Madam Pomfrey had recorded from the beginning of the year. Rutledge said little, but used obscure instruments, touching them to head or body.

Harry didn't know their function, and didn't ask. He was quite silent, apprehensive. He had a sneaking fear that he would be somehow whisked off to a closed ward at St. Mungo's, as had been the objective of Healer Smethwyck a few months before. And even though, logically, with Voldemort dead, the reason for that was gone, still the fear persisted.

Healer Rutledge finally finished noting various figures in his notebook, and asked Harry to walk across the room.

Harry obliged, again concentrating hard on walking straight, and managing very well. But then Rutledge asked him to walk across the room with his eyes closed. This test, he failed dismally, falling across a chair, and winding up with a bruised hip.

Rutledge also tried the test of having him just stand, with closed eyes, Harry this time rescued from another fall by Dumbledore.

Harry's face was now aflame, and he wanted very much to escape, but had first to be put through tests of vision, although there were no problems with his vision that had not been long ago corrected with the glasses he always wore.

At length, Rutledge laid down his pen, looked at Harry, and said, "Very well, you may go."

Harry hurried out the door, feeling much like an escaped prisoner.

"Well?" queried Dumbledore.

Rutledge said, "You told me what the boy has to say, and it does sound a bit far-fetched, but I can't think of a better explanation. There doesn't appear to be any physical damage, though I'd certainly like to see him with a bit more weight on him. He still looks thin, even after all this time."

Dumbledore said, "The battle was only last Saturday, and he walked straight across the room without faltering."

"Yes, he seems to be adjusting very well. I think in a month, one will scarcely be able to tell there's anything wrong. In any case, if, as you say, the boy may be sensitive to spells, there's really nothing else to do but to leave him to cope. I'd like to see him again in a month if you're agreeable, just to see how he's going."

"I'll wager that in a month, you won't catch him out by having him close his eyes. He'll have come up with some strategy or other, just to prove he's perfectly normal. He's an unusual young man! Have I told you the full story of the battle?" And the friends went off, deep in conversation.

Meantime, Harry hurried away, his apprehension dropping from him as he started toward the classrooms, but suddenly veering away as he decided to go to see Hagrid. After a visit with his friend, and incidentally, casually missing yet another class, he headed back toward the castle for lunch, being met by Ron and Hermione, who had been looking for him.

His spirits were rising again, not even dampened by Hermione reminding him that a double period of Potions was next after lunch, Potions still being Harry's least favourite class.

The following day, Thursday, Harry and Ron were out in the grounds, enjoying some rare sunshine after classes, when a bolt of green light, a Death Curse, came hurtling straight toward Harry. Harry struck it down, and shouted indignantly, "Hey, it's all over! Voldemort's dead!" But he was only answered with another bolt of green light, which he also struck down.

Still more indignant than angry or frightened, he didn't even have out his wand, and was striding toward the trees where the spell had come from, as if all he had to do was explain that it was a misunderstanding and his attacker would apologise and go away. His attacker didn't wait for him to arrive, but was seen speeding away on a broomstick.

Harry soon learned to be a lot more cautious. There seemed to be an allout war being waged against him. A visit to Hogsmeade ended in him returning abruptly to the castle, thoroughly harassed, after four separate instances of spells suddenly speeding toward him, each immediately followed by the sound of somebody disapparating, apparently not even waiting to see the results of the curse.

He went to see Professor Dumbledore an hour after, to see if Dumbledore knew what has happening. He was his normal cool self as he questioned Dumbledore, who thought that they were probably revenge attacks, but abruptly the pose was abandoned, and Harry started pacing Dumbledore's office, his stride becoming quicker as he raged. "_Why_ won't they leave me alone? It's supposed to be _over!_ It's supposed to be _finished! _I'm _sick _of it! They should just let me be ordinary!" and turning to Dumbledore, he flung his arms wide, and demanded, "When am I going to be _free?_"

Dumbledore blinked at him. He had become accustomed to a calm and reserved young man, who seldom showed emotion.

"A lesser tantrum than your last one, Harry," he finally observed, "No thunder and lightning, even!"

With quick comprehension, Harry laughed, flung himself into a chair, and complained, "Well, it doesn't seem very fair."

"Tea and scones, Harry?"

"That would be great." His gripe off his chest, he relaxed, and talked perfectly calmly with Dumbledore for the next half hour.

He finally got up to leave, but said, "Professor Dumbledore, I just wanted to say thank you. You've been here always for me, and I'm very grateful."

Professor Dumbledore thought how seldom Harry had come to him, but took the words as they were meant. The wise old man had known not to probe when it was unwanted, and had known when to offer help when it was desperately needed.

Harry stayed within the grounds after that, except for a few secret night-time excursions when he would walk for miles on the tracks through the mountains. He believed these to be safe, as no-one knew he was out, and he was never attacked at these times. He was studying hard, and, in spite of the risk of sudden death, his light-heartedness persisted. He became fun to be with, sociable, always ready to play. His air of cool reserve was thrown away as if he had never assumed its protection.

Professor Dumbledore called him to his office once, just to tell him why Voldemort had been persuaded to try and kill him again, when there was a strong risk that Voldemort might automatically die if Harry was killed. It seemed that he was losing so many supporters, and so much confidence, that he had finally decided that the risk was worthwhile. He reminded him of the words of the prophecy, _and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives,_ and said that it appeared Voldemort had decided that he couldn't live while Harry lived. And some of the surviving Death Eaters had spoken of certain charms and protections he had made for himself, in the hope that injury or death to Harry would leave him unharmed. This may have been why Voldemort was unaffected this time, when Harry had been knocked out.

Well, that was interesting, but Harry had put Voldemort into the past, and was now bent on surviving into the future. With that in mind, he started practising silent apparation, knowing that any advantage he could contrive for himself was worthwhile. As apparation was not possible within the school grounds, he practised it outside the wall, at night. He repeatedly vanished from one spot, and appeared close by, where he could hear if he made a bang, either coming or going. He really needed an observer, but had to make do without. He was rule-breaking with a vengeance now, and he didn't want to get anyone else into trouble if he were caught.

At length, he managed to make only a muffled thud, instead of a loud crack, and, with perseverance, achieved what he thought was silence, but could not be sure without an observer. Quiet apparation was a great satisfaction to him, but an even greater satisfaction was to occur without any hard work at all.

It was morning, three weeks after the fight. He was in the bathroom when he suddenly noticed something. "Ron," he said, "Look."

He pushed aside his fringe and showed Ron. The deeply marked zigzag scar on his forehead, that he'd had as long as he could remember, had faded to inconspicuous white. He grinned, "How about that, then?" He had always disliked the way the scar made him immediately recognisable, now it was scarcely visible. He was tickled pink! He had yet to learn that it would always blaze bright when he was angry or fighting.

John Rutledge arrived one day to have another look at him, and again he was measured and tested. This time, as Dumbledore predicted, he walked across the room, eyes closed, without faltering. But Rutledge had a different test in mind. He wanted to see if Harry could maintain his balance when distracted, and sent him to do it again, this time suddenly shouting, "Look out!"

Harry, with lightning speed, spun around, wand in hand, and scanned the room for danger. His speed was frightening, and Healer Rutledge was taken aback, not having seen this aspect of Harry before.

Harry straightened up, pocketed his wand, and said coldly to the healer, "What did you do that for?"

Rutledge, quite daunted now, explained his intentions.

Harry was still standing looking at him, in perfect command of himself, and dominating Rutledge. Then he said, quite politely, "Next time, just ask!"

Rutledge asked.

Harry was aware that Rutledge had been frightened, was not very repentant, but answered truthfully, "Yes, I tend to stagger if I'm distracted, although not when I'm fighting. Also if I'm tired." He concluded, with considerable regret, "And I'll never be able to play Quidditch again. My broomstick won't fly straight."

***chapter end***


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 10:_

It was now March, and the weather was atrocious. There had been no attacks on Harry for weeks, and he was beginning to hope that Voldemort's avengers might have become tired of the game. Ron, Hermione and Harry were sitting at a table in the common room, books out, and deep in study.

Harry asked, "Hermione, what's transmortrification? It's here as a previous exam question, and I'm sure that I've never heard of it."

Hermione said, "We did that last year, probably when you were sick," and she explained the meaning of the term.

Harry, despairing, asked, "How am I going to manage? I've just missed too much!"

Ron looked up and said, "Don't worry, all you need is a pass."

"I need really good marks, remember, I want to be an auror."

Ron and Hermione were looking at him, and at last Hermione said gently, "Harry, you can't be an auror."

"Why not?" said Harry blankly.

"You're sensitive to spells, remember? An auror is constantly exposed to spells. They probably practice them on each other in training. You'd be dead the first week."

Harry was staring at her. "I never thought about it," he said. He sat apparently studying the wall for a time, then reached for his cloak. "I'm going out."

His friends were accustomed to his absences, and regretfully watched him leave. "I thought he would have realised," said Ron.

"Yes, so did I."

Harry was out in the wild weather. He slipped over the wall, and walked his accustomed route. The wind and rain battered at him, but he relished it. It was a good match for his churning emotions. He thought himself that he should have realised that his chosen career was now impossible for him. As soon as Hermione had pointed it out, he could see that she was right. It was obvious that he could not be an auror if he could not withstand an ordinary spell. He stood, staring at the mountains, as a spatter of hail hit his face.

He was still deep in thought. _Was _he sensitive to spells? He'd been told that it was a unique condition - no-one else in the known history of magical healing had had that condition. Maybe it had just been like a relapse. The stunner that had brought him down, had been back in September, when he was still a long way short of full health. Thoughtfully, he put his hand around his back to the spot where a slightly reddened swelling used to be. He didn't even know if it was still there.

He was very thoughtful for the next two days. He stayed in the castle, looking regretfully outside. He was not avoiding going out because of fear of attack so much, but not only Euan was acting as self appointed bodyguard now. He seldom found himself alone, and was beginning to be aware that anyone near him was at risk, also.

Hermione and Ron knew that he had again dropped his studies, but didn't say anything, understanding that he was in a state of indecision. They knew, as well as he did, how far behind he was, and while Harry's magic was brilliant, his theory was abysmal.

Two days later, Harry dropped a bombshell. He asked Hermione to stun him again.

"Of course not," she said. "Why?"

"Well," said Harry, "I have to know for sure, and you're the best at spells. What you could do, if he's willing of course, is stun Ron first, until you can make a really light spell that wouldn't hurt a butterfly, and only then do me."

Hermione argued with him for the next few days, and only finally agreed when he threatened to get someone else to do it. Hermione, like Harry, knew that she was the best.

Prudently, she insisted on further precautions. It was to be done in the gym, right next to the hospital, and it would only be done if Madam Pomfrey was seen to be available, although she was not to be told for fear of interference. Ginny was brought into the secret, and was inclined to think that Harry was right, the episode at the beginning of the year was probably just a relapse. She'd never heard of anyone being allergic to spells.

They practised, Hermione using poor Ron as the guinea pig, as Harry had suggested. They timed his periods of unconsciousness, and as, like Harry, he refused to lie down to have the spell put on, he collected a few bruises in the cause.

Her first attempt at a really light spell had Ron out for just three minutes, but she was not satisfied, and the next few attempts had him out for lesser and lesser intervals, until her spell was resulting in just a sagging of the knees, and Ron having to maybe grab something for support. As Harry had ordered, a really light spell that wouldn't hurt a butterfly.

So after classes the following day, they all took themselves to the gym. As usual, no-one was there, and Ginny checked that Madam Pomfrey was next door. There was a little girl in bed, with a furry face, but that was not felt to be a hindrance. Ginny was entirely unworried, and Hermione and Ron only a little nervous. This was not a full scale stunner, it was a spell so light as to be almost ineffectual. Hermione practised three more times, Ron sagging a little twice, and only shaking his head the third time, and it was time for Harry.

Harry was feeling distinctly nervous. His pulse was racing, but he was thoroughly practised at concealing his emotions now, and no-one knew that he was afraid. So he stood, apparently perfectly relaxed, as Hermione murmured "_Stupefy_."

He woke up in the hospital. He was alone, although the bed next to him was unmade. He knew instantly what had happened. He sat up, and feeling a surge of sheer frustration, he picked up a vase of flowers and hurled it as hard as he could at a metal bedside cabinet. The resulting crash was not sufficient for him, and the vase instantly repaired itself and flew back to his hand, to be hurled again and again at the cabinet, to the accompaniment of some thoroughly obscene language.

The crashes brought Ron hurrying back from the bathroom, poor Madam Pomfrey was cowering in her room, and a little girl with a furry face at the other end of the room, started to cry.

At last he stopped, lay back in bed, ashen faced, and was silent.

Only then did Ron approach. Harry saw him there, in pyjamas, and frowned in puzzlement, "Why're _you_ here?" he asked.

"Madam Pomfrey thought I should be here when you woke, in case you wrecked her ward again. So I had to sleep here," Ron said. "Hermione and Ginny have been taking turns through the day."

Harry was beginning to be ashamed of himself. He glanced at the shards of broken glass on the floor, which turned into a vase again, and replaced itself on the table. The spilt water and the broken flowers vanished.

"Oh Christ," he said, noticing the sound of sobs, "I've properly upset that girl. Would you mind going to her? Tell her I'm sorry, that I won't do it again."

So Ron went and soothed the child. As soon as he told her who had made the commotion, she was not only perfectly willing to forgive him, she wanted his autograph.

Harry, thoroughly repentant, provided it, although his normal response to such requests was a rather curt refusal. He had decided early in his career to simply make a rule for himself, no autographs, no interviews, but this time he had upset an innocent child. (The innocent child was, in later years, to sell that autograph for a great deal of money.)

He was pleased to find that he was strong enough to take himself to the bathroom, but it wasn't long before he was back out, "Ron," he asked in an odd voice, "How long have I been here?" He had started to run his hands over his face as usual, to remove the hair growth, when he noticed a difference.

"Three days," said Ron briefly, who was dressing. "Hermione said that your heart actually stopped for a moment, but then it started up again."

"And it _was_ just that tiny stunner," Harry checked.

"Afraid so, Harry."

Harry said, "Oh," and nothing further.

When Ron started to leave for classes however, he stopped him for a moment, "Ron, thanks again. You've done an awful lot for me - always, not just this time," for Harry had begun to think that he had little chance of a long life, and that thank yous should not be delayed until later.

Still Madam Pomfrey had not come near, and as Harry lay back in bed, pale and tired, it was the little girl who came to his bedside to ask if he wanted anything. He smiled at her, and as she seemed perfectly well aside from the furry face, asked her if she could maybe get him a drink of water. He glanced at Madam Pomfrey who was scarcely visible, and sighed. He had blotted his copybook again, and upset a woman he liked.

Madam Pomfrey was not normally a timid woman, only frightened of Harry, and the example of the child shamed her. It was not long before she came out, and Harry was careful to look as helpless as possible. He was thinking that he would much prefer to be back in the dormitory, and Madam Pomfrey thought too, that she would prefer he was well away from her, but her sense of duty was strong, and she told him he must stay another day and night.

Professor Dumbledore visited, and spoke seriously to him about what had happened. Harry still thought that he had had to try it, but agreed never to try it again, not even with minor spells.

Professor Dumbledore then said, looking at him carefully, "Are you all right, here, Harry?"

Harry looked down and admitted it made him nervous to be in this place.

Dumbledore spoke to Madam Pomfrey, who was standing on the other side of the bed. "Does Harry really need to stay?"

But Madam Pomfrey said, "Right up until yesterday afternoon, his heartbeat was faint and irregular - we could have lost him anytime. I think he really has to stay, at least for tonight, and longer if there's any sign of problems."

Harry had missed breakfast, not having woken till later, but now a breakfast was provided for him, to his relief as he had started to be very hungry.

Professor Snape came in as he was finishing, with a bottle of his special potion. "Well," he said, with his smile that always looked more like a sneer, "You're looking a lot better than I expected."

Harry greeted him, and, looking at the potion with some dislike, asked, "Is that for me?"

"Yes," said Snape, "and don't look like that, it takes days to make."

Harry said, looking up at his face, "I'm really very grateful, you know. You've done a lot for me."

Snape said, "Well, it's not because I like you, you know, you defeated Voldemort for us - it was worth keeping you alive."

Harry smiled. He'd grown up a lot in the last couple of years, and had started to see behind a person's words.

Snape abruptly asked, "How are you going with your Potions study?"

Harry answered honestly, "Not well, not well in anything."

"Well, I'll make you another study sheet, you're heading for a fail, I suspect, at the moment," which was what Harry thought, too. And now he'd missed yet more classes.

Hermione and Ginny visited between classes, and Ron again, a little later on, and the furry girl Suzy, who was beginning to look less furry as the day wore on, kept wanting to wait on him, but still the day passed slowly. Harry rested, he didn't feel particularly bad, but he didn't feel particularly energetic either.

Night came, and he settled down to sleep, thinking more bitterly now, that he _really _didn't like being here.

His nightmare came back - that he was helpless, drugged, a prisoner, and he struggled in bed, moaning and fighting the blankets to be free. Madam Pomfrey tried to soothe him with her voice, but this had the opposite effect - he jerked himself up in bed, and flooded the room with light, staring at her in terror. His gaze took in Suzy, out of bed, and wide-eyed, and that helped him come to himself, and he apologised for disturbing everyone.

But he was still white-faced, and still trembled. Madam Pomfrey had seen and understood the way he had looked at her and finally realised that she was not the only one with fears. She was looking at him, wondering what to do, thought of offering him a sleeping potion, but quickly realised that that would be a mistake. She stepped toward him, hurt at the defensive look he gave her. "Harry," she said, "I'm sorry. You'll never again be forced to do anything in here you don't want to do."

He still shuddered and trembled, and she impulsively put her arms around him and hugged him.

Harry stiffened for a moment, but then gave her that gesture of trust she longed for, he let his head fall onto her shoulder, and his trembling began to lessen.

He was tucked in again, and so was Madam Pomfrey's other patient, young Suzy, who had seen a different side of the school hero. But Harry only slept fitfully, and saw the dawn coming with relief. And after breakfast, when Madam Pomfrey did her examination and gave him the all-clear, he hurried away.

It was getting to be the countdown to exams. He tried and tried again to study, but was very restless, and the incentive was gone. He had missed most of yet another week's classes and he felt a sense of hopelessness. Not only did he know he was going to fail these exams, he had tried going into Hogsmeade again, and been driven back to the castle after not one, but two Death Curses had come hurtling at him from different directions. His reactions may have been almost unbelievably fast, but he was only human, and he only had to fail once.

So he stayed at Hogwarts, in the daytime at least. The security guards were finally becoming more effective, and no more problems were experienced within the grounds. He wondered about the walls that he climbed so easily, but Professor McGonnagal reassured him that spells made the walls unclimbable, a surprising little fact, considering his frequent trips outside.

In the common room one evening, he had his books spread around him as usual, (and was staring at the wall as usual) when an owl brought a note for him. He took the note, read it, and threw it in the fire. Ron and Hermione, at the same table, waited for a hint as to the note's contents - it was not the usual time for mail. But Harry said nothing, and his face was unreadable.

That Saturday night, Harry was absent from dinner. Ron and Hermione didn't know where he was, but they were accustomed to his absences, which were becoming more frequent. They thought that he was studying in an empty classroom, perhaps, or maybe roaming the grounds. They all felt the need to be alone occasionally, but Harry seemed to feel that need more than most.

Harry was not on the grounds. The note that he had thrown on the fire had promised that he would not live until his eighteenth birthday. Subject to determined and frequent death attempts, and with only a short time until he would leave the protection of Hogwarts, he believed the note.

He made a brief will, leaving it in his locker for Dumbledore, but there was something more important to him that he wanted to do. There was to be no more delay. He was determined not to die a virgin. So Saturday night, he sat in a muggle hotel, in a muggle town, and wondered how to go about it.

But it was looking like it was going to be easier than he thought. As Hermione had discovered a few months before, he had turned into a thoroughly attractive young man. He was still rather thin - as he always would be, but he had reached his full adult height of 5'9", and showed a nicely muscled, fit body. And a woman, probably in her mid twenties, was looking at him with unmistakable interest.

He waited hopefully. She came over to his table, introduced herself, and the preliminary skirmishes of a seduction commenced. He looked at her, and she was beautiful to him. All his life, he was going to think that all women were beautiful, and any woman who would allow him to go to bed with her, was automatically especially beautiful. The couple were actually at the stage of retiring to her home for a 'coffee,' when events took a different turn.

A strongly built young man had abruptly joined them, full of drink and aggression. And oddly, Harry suddenly discovered that, more than sex whose joys he had yet to taste, he wanted to fight - a muggle fight that resulted in bruises rather than in sudden death. The man apparently regarded the woman as his exclusive property, a fine excuse for a fight.

They retired outside. The man was flinging insults, but Harry couldn't be bothered with insults. His face was alight with anticipation, and he was alert, on his toes, ready to duck and weave, as he was so good at doing. The man was fast and strong, experienced at fighting, bigger than Harry, and had not had enough alcohol to much impair his judgement.

Harry had no experience at all, but was lightning fast, and found he was able to hit quite hard. After his recent frustrations, being hit, and more, being able to hit, was exactly what he wanted. His whole being was concentration, he could extend himself without restraint, and exercise muscles, which, after all, are not just for decoration.

He had a wonderful time, and when the man finally backed off, he was feeling absolute contentment, the bruises and soreness in his body feeling good to him. The woman chose to go off with her man, but Harry was not worried. He had found a new enjoyment, and was yet to know that it is sex that is the greatest pleasure available to man and woman.

While Harry was out enjoying himself, Hogwarts was in a state of anxiety. As dinner was finishing that evening, a large owl had swept in, dropping a red envelope on Dumbledore's plate. An enormously amplified voice boomed out over the long tables where all the students and teachers were gathered. "You can't protect him forever, Dumbledore - Harry Potter will not reach his eighteenth birthday." Dumbledore's eyes went immediately to that place where Harry usually sat with his friends, although he had already known that Harry was absent.

A hush settled over the hall. Dumbledore indicated to Ron, who approached him, and asked quietly if he knew where Harry was. Ron said no, Harry hadn't mentioned anything at all.

A small search party was sent out. Dumbledore still thought that Harry would be found quite quickly, as he knew that he was very conscious that he was in danger. But when no trace was found of him, the security guards were notified to search the grounds, and prefects and teachers started a more detailed and systematic search of the castle. Dumbledore was becoming more and more worried, as were the other teachers.

Ron and Hermione were less worried than the teachers - the note hadn't said that Harry was dead, just that he was threatened, which they already knew. Although he had never told them, they had a suspicion that Harry sometimes went out of bounds at night.

Well into the night, the search went on. The thought had been put forward that he might be lying somewhere injured, and the grounds were searched again and again. Hagrid even searched in the Forbidden Forest, even though the centaurs, who seemed to know everything about their forest, said that he was not there.

Meantime, Harry, bruised but contented, apparated from the muggle town to his creeper, casually climbed the wall, dodged a few searchers, took a short cut to Gryffindor Tower where he slipped behind a pacing teacher, and went to bed. Neville, Dean and Seamus were all asleep by this time. He wondered briefly where Ron was, (as Head Boy, he was helping with the search) but he didn't wonder long, and was asleep within minutes.

Hours later, Ron was finally sent to bed. Many of the teachers still roamed the corridors, desperately worried for the life of Harry Potter.

Ron entered the dormitory, and stared at Harry in disbelief. He was sound asleep in his bed, looking entirely comfortable. Ron didn't wake him, but went to find Professor McGonnagal, who was looking pale and tired.

Professor McGonnagal quickly sent word around that Harry was safe, reassuring the teachers. She herself was getting angrier and angrier as she thought about the hours she had spent worrying, and she moved swiftly up the stairs to Harry's dormitory prepared to haul him out of bed and make him account for himself.

Harry's slightly bruised cheek was cradled on a hand, and a smile curved his lips. Professor McGonnagal regarded him for a moment, then turned and descended the stairs. She curtly told Ron to tell Harry to report to her in her office at ten o'clock in the morning.

Sunday morning, Harry, showing a bruised face, reported to Professor McGonnagal, where he received the most thorough dressing down of his life. And she still had the feeling that he had no true repentance. Harry had become accustomed to being treated with a leniency no-one else enjoyed, and was taken aback to receive three weeks detention - right up to the exams in fact. Professor McGonnagal also warned him that if he was found out of bounds again before the exams he'd be expelled. He quietly noted that she didn't say till the end of the year, and reluctantly shelved his plans to lose his virginity - at least for the time being.

When he found Ron and Hermione outside under a tree, he asked how he'd been found out. He couldn't work it out, as he'd been out often, and no-one had been any the wiser. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and Hermione said casually, "Oh, you were just missed at dinner, and then, when Ron couldn't find you, Dumbledore and McGonnagal started getting worried, and mounted a proper search."

He was regarded with even more curiosity than usual that day, but, of all the students and staff who had heard that booming threat, not a soul mentioned it to him.

The following day, he reported to Professor McGonnagal's office, after classes as instructed, and discovered that far from having him waste time doing lines, or something equally futile, she had consulted Hermione and Ron, as well as his teachers, and had prepared a full study schedule for him. He'd be working under her eye, in her office, every night. She was determined to get him through the exams, and he was not to have any choice in the matter.

Harry didn't at first know what to think about this close supervision, but within a few days was able to settle down and start working more productively than he had for a long time. He found Professor McGonnagal willing and competent to help when he was struggling with areas of study that were new to him, and made considerable progress. The area that he found most difficult, oddly, was magic. Standard exam questions asked for descriptions of incantations and wand movements, but Harry, when he wanted to do something, just waved his wand vaguely, and whatever he wanted to happen, happened. So he painfully tried to memorise hundreds of spells, but somehow found that they just would not stay in his aching head.

Three weeks went by, and Harry began to feel that he might, after all, have a chance of passing most subjects. Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, had managed their work very well this year, and were quietly confident. They both needed good marks, Ron wanted to be an auror, and Hermione wanted to be a mediwizard.

The exams, for Harry, were a bit of a surprise. The theory portion of each subject came first, and as he had expected, he battled. It's just not possible to make up two years work in three weeks, no matter how hard the work put in.

The practical part of the exams was amazingly easy. The panel of examiners mostly seemed to want only to shake his hand and get his description of the final battle with Voldemort. And the things he was asked to do seemed to be geared to only what he was competent in - the potion he was asked to prepare, for instance, was a simple one that third years could do. Any magic, of course, he could do without the slightest worry, and the examiners seemed to be turning a blind eye to the methods he used.

He found it worrying that several asked him to do magic without his wand, as he was now rumoured to be able to do. He still wanted to keep very quiet about that ability of his, so repeatedly, he would explain that he could not normally do that type of magic - that sometimes things happened when he was fighting.

He finally obliged a professor, after repeated urging, by attempting to move a table without using a wand. With every sign of immense concentration, the table finally gave a reluctant twitch, at which Harry collapsed, apparently exhausted.

Professor McGonnagal, observing, looked away, her mouth twitching.

Friday, the exams were over. Friday night, Harry was again sitting in a muggle pub, in a different muggle town, and finally got his wish. Again, he was not obliged to put any effort into seduction, but was quite quickly approached by a good looking woman in her early thirties. Her experience was just what a virgin boy needed. Not that Harry needed a good deal of instruction, he took to love-making as easily as if it were a new type of magic - and maybe it is.

During that night, he confirmed and re-confirmed that sex is the best thing in the world, before returning to Hogwarts not too long after midnight. He visited the woman repeatedly in the days that followed, getting tired with the late nights, but very pleased with himself.

Ron and the other boys in the dormitory shielded for him, never mentioning to anyone that he was not in bed where he was supposed to be. Ron had confided in them what Harry had confided in him - that he didn't want to die a virgin.

One night, Dean could contain his curiosity no longer and asked how he was going with his project.

"What project," said Harry, who hadn't even noticed that the boys were conspiring to keep him out of trouble.

"Losing your virginity, of course," said Dean.

Harry blushed, "Uh, all right," he said, rather hesitantly, not having thought of sharing his experiences. And put the question back to Dean. "What about you?"

"Oh, last summer," said Dean, casually prideful.

"Me, too," chimed in Seamus, and, "Two years ago," said Neville, to everyone's surprise, as Neville could seldom outdo anyone.

Harry was vastly amused, "I thought I was being so daring," and turned to Ron. "What about you?"

If Harry had blushed, Ron was fiery. "Last summer," he said to his surprise.

"You never told me!" And then, with his contagious grin, he said, "Isn't it the absolute _best _thing in the world?"

***chapter end***


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: __Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling._

_Chapter 11:_

The Monday after the exams, apparation classes began, to be taken with Professor Dalton. This allowed some weeks for people to learn the complex magic required before apparation tests on the second last day of school. This was especially helpful for the muggle-borns, whose parents were not part of wizarding culture. The apparation lessons were to be held in a clearing, just outside the main gates. There was no cover close, which was a good thing from Harry's point of view, but he still felt very vulnerable, as there was nothing to stop a wizard apparating up close, killing him, then vanishing again.

He spoke of his concerns to Professor Dalton, with a suggestion that maybe he should not attend. But Professor Dalton had been an auror, and had the arrogance of an auror. His fears were dismissed. "Don't be silly, I'll be there." Harry still wanted a witness to ensure that he was apparating silently, and thought that maybe Dalton could give him some hints.

Dalton started by putting those people who had their license through their paces. To his pleasure, Harry was told that he had indeed managed silent apparation, but he wasn't the only one - Draco Malfoy also had the skill, presumably learned from his father who had been a Death Eater .

The people who were already competent in apparation were sent off to a nearby field together to practice, or to just wait as they chose. Then Dalton started teaching the novices, which included Hermione.

Harry had enough people around him that he thought he was safe for a while, and was practising apparating while walking. In this one skill of apparation, he was beginning to have some vanity, and he wanted to vanish and reappear silently and in full stride. But it was difficult. Although he had learned to conceal that he had a problem with his balance, it was always there, waiting to trip him up. After he'd fallen down twice, he decided that he'd practice alone, without Malfoy chortling in the distance.

But now he was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy, fidgeting at first, and then standing tense, watching all around him. Malfoy started to refer to him as 'Mad-Eye,' after a certain retired auror known for his paranoia.

"What's the matter, Harry?" said Ron.

Malfoy was close, too. Even though he'd been teasing Harry, Malfoy had put himself in a position to watch his back.

Harry had drawn his wand, although it was still held at his side. "Remember at the train station, did I ever tell you how those aurors got close enough to drug me?" he said, still scanning his surroundings, "Two suddenly apparated, one to each side of me, and one stuck his needle in my side."

Then he suddenly said, "I'm going back." But he looked at the main gate, which had tree cover close, and added, "But not that way. I'll see you later."

He disapparated, reappearing at his creeper that led over the wall, luckily inconspicuous behind some trees. Dropping to the ground on the other side of the wall, he sighed with relief. Safe for one more day - probably. The other students saw no sign of any attackers, and were apt to think that Harry really was being paranoid. Several were calling him Mad-Eye now, but none were really laughing - they knew the threat to his life.

Professor Dalton was annoyed with him for leaving the group without notice, but Harry went over his head to Professor McGonnagal to gain an exemption from future apparation classes.

He didn't stop practising. He was trying to arm himself in any way he could think of for what he knew was going to be a very hazardous life outside Hogwarts. As well as working at apparating in full stride, (because it would look cool,) he had started practising an instant apparation dodge, that had to become so automatic that he could do it without any preparation or thought. He wanted to just vanish and reappear two feet to the side - enough to dodge a spell, but not enough to remove himself entirely from the scene.

At first, he tried apparating to the right, as dodging to the left had become so natural to him now that it could be predictable to an enemy. But when he dodged in that fashion, and straightaway fell back to the left, he changed his mind, and his quick apparation dodge, when he used it, was always to the left.

He also went to Professor Flitwick, the Charms professor, and asked him whether it was possible to put an anti-apparation field around himself. He had to be careful not to touch himself with any spell, so the charm had to be on his surroundings, not on himself, and to move as he moved.

Professor Flitwick was intrigued with the idea. He'd never heard of such a charm, but he worked on it with Harry, and at last they were able to test it. Ron and Hermione, with Professor Flitwick, went through the main gates, while Harry took his own more discreet route to meet them.

To his pleasure and relief, the charm worked, giving him a clearance of five yards all around him, enough, he felt, to give him some warning of attack, but not enough to be conspicuous. People trying to apparate into that area were not hurt, they simply couldn't do it. So Harry made one more defence for himself.

At Ron and Hermione's request, he showed them the place he used to hop over the wall, as he was doing so frequently these days. Ron made the attempt to climb the wall, but even with his long arms and legs, he somehow kept falling. The wall apparently was 'unclimbable' as Professor McGonnagal had told Harry. Harry didn't know how he, himself, could ignore the spell, but he could apparently do a lot of things that other people couldn't, so he shrugged it off, and continued using his convenient escape route.

There was another thing he wanted to do, but this time he didn't find immediate help. Professor McGonnagal knew that becoming an animagus is difficult magic - complex and dangerous, and she was reluctant to try and teach Harry. Harry coaxed, wheedled, even put on a look of entirely false pathos, and said sadly how he guessed he would just have to die then. He wanted to be able to turn into a hawk, fast, fierce enough to defend itself, able to fly away from danger, and small enough to get through a small window, or even prison bars. He had no intention of registering himself with the Ministry of Magic, however. Even if he'd trusted them, this potential last ditch defence would be a lot less useful if it were known.

He appealed to Professor Dumbledore, but Dumbledore supported McGonnagal. Becoming an animagus takes years of study, he said. Instead, he put something to Harry that he'd been thinking of for some time. He wanted him to stay at Hogwarts where he could be protected, and be a member of staff, perhaps a teacher's assistant.

But Harry, while touched, felt quite unqualified, and also that he needed to be out in the world, hazardous though it may be. He had spent years of his life at Hogwarts, and while he loved the place, he was a student there, and it was difficult to think of himself in any other role.

He had been working hard, trying to arm himself against his attackers, but he had also been playing hard. He still felt that life was potentially short, possibly very short, and he was making the most of it. The teachers, on Dumbledore's instructions, left him alone, although McGonnagal and Dumbledore at least, knew that he was frequently out of bounds.

In the field of sex, Harry was enjoying himself outrageously. It was apparent that women found him very attractive, and he experimented, learning everything that was taught him by the experienced older women he preferred. He had all the qualities necessary to make him a superlative lover - enthusiasm of course, a frank enjoyment of a woman's body, and a sensitive intelligence.

He had another muggle fight, too, but this time it was less evenly matched. His speed of reaction was a revelation to his opponent, who quickly backed off, to Harry's regret.

Classes still continued, but in a relaxed fashion. Odd spells that would come in useful were taught. Harry was contagiously happy, choosing not to think about his vulnerability when he left Hogwarts in so short a time.

He was also getting quite tired, and in one of Professor McGonnagal's classes, he leaned his head against the wall and went quietly to sleep. Professor McGonnagal ignored him until close to the end of class, then said sternly, "Mr. Potter."

Harry woke with a start, looking up, confused.

The teacher said sternly, "We were learning to conjure a couch, Mr. Potter. Would you demonstrate please?"

Parvarti Patil hissed the words of an incantation, which Harry used to make a couch, as instructed.

"Very good, Mr. Potter - except that you used the spell to make a table."

Harry shot an accusing glance at Parvarti. "Ah, right," he said, vanishing the couch, and sitting back at his seat.

"And what have you been doing to make you so tired you go to sleep in my class?" Professor McGonnagal asked him.

Harry looked at the wall, as if it might provide him with an explanation.

Parvarti suddenly said, "I know what he's been doing, he's been out losing his virginity. He said he didn't want to die a virgin, so the matter was urgent." The class broke up. There had been a tension around Harry, ever since the booming threat made before the exams, and now he felt the relaxation of that tension with some relief, maybe it was worth making a fool of himself, if people would only treat him naturally.

Lavender said, gasping with laughter, "And have you succeeded, Harry?"

Harry said brazenly, "Yes, and I've decided on a new career. I'm finished with fighting dark wizards, sex is much more fun - I've decided to be a gigolo!"

This time the screams of laughter were even greater and he found himself pelted with pieces of papers and small items of stationary from all over the room until he dived out of the door, chased by half the class. Swiftly he ducked behind a tapestry and was gone.

But the joke lived on, and was repeated again and again. Harry Potter's not fighting dark wizards any more - he says he's going to be a gigolo.

_**x** _

He was still determined to learn to be an animagus. He called to a hawk one day, he was not quite sure how, and it came to him. He studied its fierce eyes, and touched its back and wings, as if to feel its structure. And then, hawk on his wrist, he again approached Professor McGonnagal. This time he used blackmail, just as he'd used it on Hermione when she had refused to put a stunner on him. He told Professor McGonnagal that if she wouldn't help him, he'd just have to do it himself. McGonnagal sighed, and told him she'd talk to the headmaster.

The following day, Harry presented himself as instructed, to Professor McGonnagal's office, where he found Dumbledore as well. McGonnagal had said that having the hawk there would be helpful, so he had called the hawk to him again, having sent it off the previous day. So much of Harry's magic was a mystery, and neither Dumbledore nor McGonnagal understood how he could call a wild hawk. But it now waited calmly on his arm.

McGonnagal started by asking him to study the hawk, but she was rather surprised when he put his hand gently on the back of the hawk, closed his eyes and concentrated. Harry's teachers had expected him to look at it from the outside, not to try to comprehend its essence. But Harry had his own methods, and they had learned to respect that.

When he looked up, Professor McGonnagal proceeded to give him as much detailed instruction as she could, advising him to study hard each night, and in a few months, he could attempt the transformation. They were offering their time for as long as he needed them, for which he was very grateful.

But Harry felt as if he knew the hawk already, and knew he needed all the weapons he could master _now,_ not in a few months. Professors Dumbledore and McGonnagal were taken aback when he jumped the gun and his form suddenly melted into that of a hawk, frightening the original hawk so that it gave a harsh cry and flew out the window.

He restored himself, shook his head, and repeated the feat. This time, he experimentally stretched his wings, and gave them a flap. And then he tried to walk along the floor, but promptly fell to the left. His old handicap still persisted in the hawk. But when he restored himself, he was pale, and leaned against the wall. "Do people always feel sick when they do that?" he asked.

Professor McGonnagal was still looking at him, mouth agape. Dumbledore was quicker to recover himself, but looked at Professor McGonnagal for an explanation. "Minerva?" he asked.

Recovering herself, she answered, "Well, it's quite an adjustment for the body, of course, but I don't remember feeling sick when I started."

Harry said, "Well, I might leave it for now, but maybe after all, animagi are not for me." And when he left, his first step was a stagger to the left before he recovered himself.

He was off colour for a few days after that, and wondered if his sensitivity to spells extended to becoming an animagus. But the potential usefulness of this skill was very great, and after all, he hadn't become seriously sick. So in private, he did it a few more times, and even flew a few hundred yards, which would be sufficient for the emergency escape he had in mind.

But turning himself to a hawk always left him feeling miserably sick, and he told his still willing teachers that he was not proceeding with it. He never told anyone else about this new ability, not even his particular friends, and his teachers knew to keep it secret. That he could become a hawk, even if a sickly one, was best kept totally secret.

The end of the school year was very close now.

Exam results arrived, and both Ron and Hermione had done well enough to qualify for their chosen careers. So they were happy, and Harry was thrilled to be able to congratulate them. He refused to accept any congratulations on his own excellent results, saying that they were meaningless, entirely unearned. Although not surprised at the marks he had been given, after his experience in the exams, he somehow didn't like it.

It was now just three days until they were to leave school, and enter adult life. Harry had said so little about his future plans that Hermione and Ginny were quizzing him, while Ron looked on. "But what are you going to do?"

No-one else was close enough to hear. Harry said, quietly, "Don't tell anyone, but for a start, I'll move to Sirius Black's place."

"Well, that's sounds pretty safe," said Hermione, knowing of the protections that surrounded the hidden house.

Harry continued, "Then I think I might have to go away. I don't think I can stay alive in England."

The others were silent. They didn't want to lose their Harry, but they most certainly didn't want him dead.

"You're very good at fighting, and you can apparate..." said Ron, rather tentatively.

"I only have to miss once, and it's not as if they fight fair!"

The following day, many of the seventh year students did their apparation tests. Hermione had had no trouble, and passed easily, as did most, only a few being told that they needed further practice, and would have to re-take the test.

_**x**_

The last day came, and it was time for the End of Year Feast. Visitors were not normally present for the End of Year Feast, but this time Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, was present, as well as two witches whom Harry didn't know. But something in the way the witches carried themselves indicated an important role in life. Professor Dumbledore introduced them, but only gave their names, which left Harry and the others, little the wiser.

The fun of the feast proceeded, but this year it was rather spoiled for Harry. He felt that Cornelius Fudge was an enemy, and almost certainly complicit, or even the originator of those plans that had been made, first to keep him sick, and then to lock him away as well. The reason for keeping him sick was gone with the death of Voldemort, but Harry was convinced that Cornelius Fudge bore him a personal enmity, and to be hated by someone in such a powerful position, was dangerous.

After the feast, Professor Dumbledore rose and said a few words, as always blessedly short. He then presented the House Cup - almost a foregone conclusion. With the defeat of Voldemort and the defeat of six of his supporters by two Gryffindor students, Gryffindor had had to win.

But then Cornelius Fudge rose to his feet, and started to make a very long and very boring speech, starting with the virtues of hard work, mentioning the important role that the Ministry played in the lives of all witches and wizards, and emphasising the respect the Ministry was owed. The students were looking at Dumbledore, wondering why they were being subjected to this, but Dumbledore noted that Harry had put on his imperturbable face, and just waited.

Fudge finally made a mention of Voldemort, that he had been a powerful wizard, who had done a great deal of evil in his life. But instead of getting to the point, Fudge was now talking about the potential dangers of powerful wizards, and some side-long glances were cast at Harry.

At length, the Minister for Magic said that two wizards had defeated Voldemort, and deserved recognition. He called Euan Abercrombie and Harry Potter, to come up to the head table.

He turned to one of the witches, who was wreathed in smiles, but it was a rather disdainful Fudge who presented the Orders of Merlin to Euan first, and then to Harry. Euan accepted his Order of Merlin with astonished gratification, Harry with that look of cool reserve that could be rather daunting.

Fudge was an enemy, but Harry shook his hand politely, and accepted the medal, feeling as if he were shaking hands with a snake that could turn on him at any moment. The rest of the students knew no reserve, and erupted with pleasure at the honour for their hero, and for Euan, who had been equally honoured.

The party in Gryffindor that night was noisy, and full of cheer. Someone had brought in alcohol, but Harry was not allowing his judgement to be impaired, and certainly didn't look like he might re-decorate the common room this time. This didn't seem to stop him having a good time, however. He seemed to have cast off all cares as soon as he entered the Gryffindor common room that had been home to him for the past seven years, and laughed and chattered, making the most of the little time left that he had with his friends, and all those Gryffindors whom he knew so well.

In his study, Professor Dumbledore paced the floor as he did so often. He was thinking about the senior students who were leaving, as he did at this time every year. His head boy and girl, who were going on to challenging careers, and the others, all individuals, all heading for their separate destinies.

And he thought about Harry Potter, whom he loved. He reflected that there was more than one Harry. There was the fun-loving boy who had laughed his way around Hogwarts for the last few months, but was yet constantly on the alert for danger, and could turn in a flash to a dangerous fighting wizard. And there was the cool, self-controlled young man, who wore an air of maturity at odds with his youth. This one could command a hush from the other students, and could even daunt a man like John Rutledge. And there was another only a few had seen - for only in his nightmares would Harry betray his deepest fears. And then he trembled and shook with terror.

This was the young man who was leaving his school to face an uncertain future. Knowing the number of enemies that Harry Potter would face, Professor Dumbledore could only hope and pray. Harry was not eighteen yet, and there had been a promise made.

_**The**__**End**_**.**

Next in this series: 'Return to Hogwarts.'


End file.
